


On Thin Ice

by Minadora



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (all anxiety attacks have trigger warnings!), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Sports, Anxiety, Friends to Lovers, Ice Skating, Multi, Mutual Pining, Other, Pining, S L O W B U R N, Slow Burn, also i write a lot so it's gonna be like 200k words i stg, can now add: hockey!, figure skating AU, gay skating, i'll just add tags as we go along, i'm gonna reiterate this one bc people are currently realizing just how true it is, idek we just started chatting about it one day and now its THIS, is that a tag?, sports AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-08-08 10:36:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 180,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7754422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minadora/pseuds/Minadora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This multi-chapter fic chronicles the lives of a hockey player named Keith who gets enlisted into figure skating lessons by his brother, Shiro, to "work on his footwork". There he meets a pompous - yet talented - figure skater named Lance and gets swept away by both the sport and the skater. </p><p>Or: the not-so-simple story of two people trying to navigate the complexities of living in an ever changing world and face the traumas they've buried far away from the sunlight. </p><p>(UPDATE: On a temporary hiatus while I work on my health and find the drive to write again)</p><p>(Russian Translation https://ficbook.net/readfic/5434480)<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Triple Lutz to the Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [On Thin Ice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10898715) by [Tiannabeth (TianaEspecial)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TianaEspecial/pseuds/Tiannabeth)



> Author & co-creator: tumblr user wardenalistair  
> Artist & co-creator: tumblr user soottea
> 
> Come say hi and cry about Voltron with us!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Folks! This is a collab piece so here's the two loser behind it all: Emily (author) and Bronwyn (artist). 
> 
> This monstrous first chapter was only supposed to be half the length it is #oops. My bad.  
> One note I want to make is that we rely on a few pretty important headcanons in this fic. The main one being that adopted brothers headcanon for Keith and Shiro. No hate at all to you Sheith shippers - that headcanon just works so nicely in our au so we're going with it.
> 
> Hopefully you all enjoy the first chapter! If you want to scream about voltron or figure skating, come find me (Emily) on tumblr at wardenalistair.tumblr.com. Bronwyn can be found at soottea.tumblr.com and @sootttea on twitter - yell at them about their adorable drawings. Thanks so much for reading!!

Keith is awoken by the sound of someone continuously and _insistently_ ringing his buzzer.

He pries his face from the crease in his pillow and stares with disdain towards the front of his apartment. Keith usually enjoys living by himself but it’s moments like this where he wished he had a roommate to save him from this cruel and unusual torment. He groans as he launches a spare pillow in the general direction of the noise and prays to whatever holy entity exists that he could just _go back to sleep_. The pillow connects with a bookshelf, piled high with miscellaneous items, sending several of them tumbling to the floor with a clang. Keith, propped up on his forearm, listens.

Silence.

Keith sighs in relief.

Then: four more, almost angry sounding buzzes.

Keith groans and flops back onto his pillow, groping blindly for his phone on the coffee table beside him. He flicks away his lock screen and squints at the god awful number staring him in the face: 08:13.

“What the _actual fuck_ ,” he says out loud. The buzzing continuous while he considers the many inventive ways he could murder the person behind the noise and, with superhuman willpower, hoists himself out of bed. His feet guide him through his small apartment towards his buzzer (which still screams at him) and he practically slams his finger down on the mic button.

“What,” he says through gritted teeth “do you want.”

He realizes a second later that he doesn’t even know who’s at the door and, in all honesty, he doesn’t really care. He just wants to go back to sleep where there is no obnoxious buzzer to ruin his life.

A voice crackles through the speaker in his wall, low and irritated.

“Keith, it’s Shiro. Let me in.”

Keith _glares_ at the speaker with as much ferocity as he can manage after being woken up five hours earlier than he had planned.

As if sensing the look he shot him, Shiro continues.

“Let me in or I will keep ringing this thing until you do.”

Keith slams his finger down on the mic. “You wouldn’t dare.”

A beat of silence passes followed by one loud and prolonged buzz.

He is not one to give up so easily but, having just been dragged out of bed and feeling a lot like a recently revived corpse, Keith gives in and defeatedly lets Shiro have his way.

Being on the first floor, it takes only a few seconds before Shiro is at his doorway, coffee in hand and gym bag slung around one shoulder. Keith, on the other hand, is sporting a scowl and a pair of boxers.

Shiro does not wait for Keith to address him. “You,” he starts with a jab of his index finger. “Are coming with me.”

“Shiro.” Keith runs his hand over his face and takes a few long strides back over to his bed - well, futon - where he falls backwards onto it. “It’s too early. Please don’t do this to me.”

“Early?” Shiro turns his wrist over to glance at his analog - that’s right, _analog_ \- watch. “It’s barely past eight! We should have left half an hour ago!”

Keith lifts his head to stare at him in disbelief. “What is _wrong_ with you?”

“Currently: you.” Shiro sets down his coffee on a stack of books by the front door and moves over to stand, looming over Keith. “You and I both know that I will drag you out of here so you might as well make this easy for both of us.”

“Uuuuggghhhhh, where are we even going?”

“The rink. You are joining the beginner class today.” Shiro folds his arms over his chest stubbornly.

Keith blinks up at him. “You’re joking.”

Shiro just raises an eyebrow in response.

“You’re not joking.” Keith sighs heavily. “Look, I appreciate you wanting to help but, really, I don’t need it.”

“Keith,” Shiro grabs a hold of his ankle as he speaks. “As your brother and former coach, I can tell you that you do need it. This _will_ help you, I know it. And not only with your hockey and skating skills, but with your temper, too.”

Keith turns his face into his arm and mumbles.“I don’t have a temper.”

“Do you want to look at me when you say that?”

“No.”

Shiro sighs and gives Keith’s leg a small tug. “Just try it. You don’t have to commit to anything more than one lesson but I really, _really_ think it will do you well.” Keith looks up at him, frown still plastered on his face. “Please, Keith. Trust me on this.”

Keith stares him down while he mulls over his options: agree and attend an awful figure skating class, refuse and get dragged to an awful figure skating class by force, or lie here and pretend to die.

He is almost certain that Shiro would drag him to the lesson even if he chose the last option.

“Fine.” He huffs. “I will go to your stupid lesson but do not expect me to be excited about it.”

“Oh trust me,” Shiro grins at him and yanks him off the futon with one strong pull. Keith’s ass collides with the ground followed shortly by his head but Shiro doesn’t seem concerned in the slightest. “I won’t.” He marches over to his gym bag and slings it over his shoulder once more. “Now, get dressed. Lesson starts at ten and we’re taking the subway.”

* * *

 

After Keith gets dressed and Shiro practically force feeds him a bagel, they finally find their way to the subway station. The station is surprisingly quiet - usually it’s packed tight with business people at this hour, with pinched faces and polished shoes. Odds are a train just left and saved them from having to deal with the crowds. The station isn’t empty by any means but at least Keith doesn’t feel like he’s going to suffocate.

“But, I don’t even have the right skates.” Keith says from behind his travel mug of coffee still trying to convince Shiro that this was an awful idea. The older boy isn’t having any of it.

“You can borrow some from the rink.” He doesn’t even look at Keith as he answers, instead focuses on a train that’s just coming into view.

Shiro pushes past a group of people to where the train doors are opening with a groan. He squeezes in, Keith in tow, beside a gentleman in a well tailored suit, gesturing for Keith to move in next him. He is suddenly acutely aware of the contrast between his grubby sweats and the pristine, pressed fabric of the man’s jacket. He averts his gaze to stare at the grimy floor, self consciousness growing in his gut.

“Honestly, Keith.” Shiro starts. “You can’t get out of this one. Even if you managed to convince me to let it go, I don’t see how you’d avoid Allura’s wrath. She is more excited about this than anyone else. _Trust me_ , you don’t want to get on her bad side. Which reminds me...” He reaches into the front pocket of his bag and pulls out his cell phone. “I should let her know I’ll be late.”

“We’re not going to be late,” Keith frowns.

“Maybe by your standards, sure.” Shiro types into his phone as he talks then brings it up to his ear. “And certainly not by Lance’s. But as a coach I have certain expectations I have to meet. Keith ignores the subtle dig as Shiro stares down at his feet and he talks into his phone. “Allura? Yeah, hi. It’s me.” A pause. “No, no. I just stopped by Keith’s place to pick him up.” He smirks as the person on the other side of the line speaks. “Yeah, he’ll be there. But, listen, I’m going to be a little later than usual today. We’re just on the subway now so I should be there in about twenty minutes.” He laughs, then, at something she says. It’s a short lilted sound unlike anything Keith has heard him make before that catches his attention. “Of course. Anyways I -- Yeah, me too. Well, I’ll - um - see you soon. Okay. Bye.”

Shiro keeps his eyes on his phone as he hangs up and swipes through some messages on the screen. Keith squints suspiciously at him.

“So,” he starts, catching Shiro’s attention. He notes the slight flush of his face. “Allura.”

Shiro blinks at him, flush growing _ever so slightly_ as he gulps. “Uhm… What…. about her?”

“Yes. What about her, indeed.” Keith raise an eyebrow at the older man. “I’ve never actually met her, you know. Which is strange considering she’s been your partner for -”

“Skate partner.” Shiro corrects.

“Right,” Keith smirks. “ _Skate partner._ ”

Shiro finally catches on, there, and sighs at him. “No, Keith. None of that. Allura is my coworker in several ways and that’s just -” he waves his hand noncommittally in front of him. “ - not right.”

The subway lurches to a stop and the doors open as Keith stares him down. The man in the suit abandons them but is quickly replaced by three other people. It’s not nearly as packed as it usually is but it is still by no means private. Keith pushes on, nevertheless.

“That is the biggest load of shit I’ve ever heard.” Shiro rolls his eyes at him as he talks, trying to brush off his words. “I haven’t even _met_ her and I know you’ve got it bad. It’s been years that you’ve been skating with her. Why don’t you just, I don’t know, ask her out to dinner or something?”

Exhaustion rolls off of Shiro’s posture in waves. “I already get this every day from Lance. I don’t need it from you, too.”

“You don’t even deny it!” Keith throws his hands up in front of him. “Tell me - _tell me_ \- you don’t like her! ‘Cause I don’t think you can.”

“Drop it, Keith.” Shiro seems to be trying for intimidating but, oh man did he miss that mark.

“You can’t, can you?” Keith steps closer to him. Yeah. Definitely blushing.

“I -” Shiro is practically crushing his phone in his hands at this point. “- don’t have to answer that.”

“SHIRO.”

“It doesn’t matter, okay!” The subway grinds to another halt and this time Shiro moves towards the doors. Keith follows. “She is my co-coach and my skating partner. I won’t jeopardize my current relationship with her for selfish reasons. It’s not fair to her.”

Keith puts on his best ‘are you kidding me’ look as he starts up the stairs beside his brother.

“If I find out that you are being a giant baby about this - that she is just as stupidly obsessed with you - I will have your _ass_ , Shiro.”

Shiro doesn’t answer him now, just pushes up off the last step and through the doors leading to the busy outdoor streets. Keith rolls his eyes at him as he follows, hoisting his bag higher up on his shoulder.

* * *

 

Keith has been to the rink before, once or twice maybe, so he vaguely remembers the route to it. Still, he lets Shiro lead, if anything so he can hang back several paces and sulk. This is not how he had hoped to spend his Wednesday morning and he intends to let everyone know.

The busy main streets are left behind as Shiro leads them down a suburban neighbourhood where almost every house had children’s toys strewn across the laneway. It’s painfully domestic and Keith suddenly realizes he has not been in an environment like this for many years. Even when he had lived with Shiro, they had stayed in a shitty apartment downtown near the hockey rink. It was definitely a step up from what he has now but nowhere near these kinds of houses. Seeing them now, stirs up a bittersweet kind of nostalgia that Keith winces at. A lot has changed since he’s lived in a house like this and seeing them now reminded him so much of that.

Thankfully, Shiro turns off of the boulevard of broken dreams and leads them onto a slightly busier street within plain sight of the rink. Unlike the rec centre that hosts his hockey rink, this arena was _only_ a rink. No connected weight rooms full of frighteningly buff people, no forty year old women in yoga clothing strolling through the hallways, no seniors wadding towards the shallows for water aerobics. Keith briefly wonders if Shiro prefers this privacy over their old rink. Obviously he must, seeing as he practically co-owns the place.

“So,” Shiro says, breaking him out of his reverie. “You’re in the nine thirty tadpole class.”

“Tadpole…?” Keith raises an eyebrow at his brother.

“It’s what we call new skaters.” The parking lot is full of minivans and doting parents clinging to their children’s hands. Shiro waves at many of them, smiling warmly at them as they pass. “Because ‘soon you’ll be hopping around on the ice like frogs’.”

“ _Oh my god_ .” Keith stops dead in his tracks. “You have _got_ to be kidding me. That is single-handedly the most cringeworthy and embarrassing thing I have ever heard in my _life_. I refuse to be a part of this.”

Shiro huffs out an annoyed sigh and barely turns to face him. “Stop being dramatic, Keith.”

“No way. I am not going to be a - a - _tadpole._ ” Even just saying it sends waves of embarrassment rolling over him. This isn’t happening.

Keith can see Shiro flip into older brother mode and is just about to kick his ass when the front door to the arena swings open and a dark skinned woman with silver hair (which Keith assumes is dyed even though he sees no roots) and, honestly, the bluest eyes he’s ever seen. Based on the way Shiro reacts - for reference: starts, turns, blushes, and smiles a god awfully cheesy smile - Keith guesses this must be Allura. She’s taller than he imagined, seeing as most female pair figure skaters are usually quite short, but the gracefulness with which she moves is more than enough to compensate for it. If she moves like this on the pavement Keith can only imagine how she must look on the ice.

He also suddenly understands his brother’s infatuation; you don’t have to be into girls to know when someone’s a 50 on a scale of 1 to 10. And Allura was most definitely a 50.

“Shiro!” She calls, waving her hand excitedly above her. Keith notices the English accent in her voice and wonders if she came overseas to train.

“Oh, hello!” Shiro raises one hand sheepishly. “Uh, Allura.”

“Smooth.” Keith says under his breath which earns him a warning glare.

Allura pads over to them, politely nodding at a passing family, a dazzling smile plastered to her face. Keith risks a glance over at Shiro who simultaneously looks constipated and like all of his limbs have turned to jello. Keith barely suppresses a snort. Allura, on the other hand, seems well composed and definitely _not_ like a 13 year old with a crush, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.

Once she’s within comfortable conversational range, Shiro rubs the back of his neck and stammers out yet another eloquent sentence.

“Sorry for, y’know, being late. I was outside of this one’s -” he jabs a thumb over at Keith. “- apartment door for almost 10 minutes before he finally decided to answer.”

“‘This one?’” Allura fixes her gaze on Keith who squirms under her intrigued gaze. “Oh! You must be Keith!” She extends a hand in greeting which Keith takes, surprised by her firm grip and strong handshake. He gets the distinct feeling she could take him a fight with both arms tied behind her back. _Oh boy, his brother is doomed._

“Yeah, nice to meet you.”

“I have heard so much about you! Shiro has told me many stories about you two - I especially loved the ones from when you were kids.” She lays a hand on Shiro’s arm with a tender smile and he just about combusts. “They made several long plane rides at least somewhat endurable.”

“Hm,” Keith smirks at his brother’s current state. “I’m sure I could think of a few more you’d find entertaining.”

“Keith...” Shiro warns.

“Oh?” Allura perks up, hand still gingerly placed on Shiro’s arm, and turns to face Keith more fully. “Such as?”

“Well, when Shiro was in high school -”  

“Keith.”

“- he had this one girlfriend -”

“ _Keith_.”

“A girlfriend?” Allura looks over at Shiro with a coy grin. The latter almost goes white with fear, any attempts at intimidation vanishing into thin air.

“Oh yeah, she was really pretty. But, see, one time Shiro took her out for dinner at this fancy restaurant. He saved up for _weeks_ to pay for it.” Keith watches Shiro look desperately between him and Allura then out towards the arena door for help. Keith continues. “Well, it turns out that she was allergic to seafood! Neither of them knew this, at least, not until they got back to her place where - “

“ _OKAY I THINK THAT’S ENOUGH.”_ Shiro slings his arm over Keith’s shoulders, squeezing tighter than the average side-hug. “ _Story time is_ **_over_ **.”

Keith would normally be scared for his life if Shiro’s face wasn’t currently the shade of a tomato and his eyes weren’t saucer-sized. He wonders if his brother will ever return to his normal skin tone after what he just went through - probably not. Allura seems just as amused as he is, a delicate hand held in front of her mouth as she tries to smother the giggles bubbling out of her.

He stares up at his brother’s pleading expression. “Are you sure? But it’s such a great story!”

“I am _absolutely certain_. Now is not the time for stories.”

Like an angel sent from the heavens, Allura swoops in (still slightly giggling) and saves Shiro from any more torment. “As much as I’d love to hear the ending of this tale, we do have to get to practice. The lesson starts in fifteen minutes and you -” she looks Keith up and down. “- probably need a set of skates. Come on, we’ll get you sized and laced up quickly so you can stretch before the lesson.” She places a hand on Keith’s back and all but _pushes_ him in the direction of the rink. He finds it hard to resist her, as much as he wants to.

As he is lead forward, Shiro whacks him on the back of the head, his face still visibly burning with embarrassment.

_Worth it._

* * *

 

“Do they fit alright?”

Keith wiggles his toes around inside the skate, staring down at them with a frown. They are painfully different from the bulky hockey skates he’s used to, so tightly fitted and formed, that they feel alien in comparison.

“I think so?” He presses his foot onto the ground, putting just a little more weight onto the skate. “I don’t really know how they're supposed to fit.”

“Hm,” Allura props her hands onto her hips. “I guess they are quite different from your usual skates. They look like a good fit, at least from what I can see, and I have a pretty good eye for these things.” Keith looks up at her as she winks. “I’ve been doing this for a while.”

Keith looks out towards the ice where Shiro stands talking to a few people. He had excused himself earlier, saying he had things to take care of before the lesson, and left Keith at the mercy of Allura’s authority. She wasn’t mean by any standards, in fact she was one of the most welcoming people Keith had met, but she had a… presence about her. She carried herself differently than everyone else. Not like she was better than them, but like she wasn’t one to be pushed around. Shiro was right when he said Keith stood no chance against her; even though Keith still _desperately_ wanted out of this, there was no way she was going to let that happen.

“Well,” Keith pushes himself onto his feet. “I’ll trust your judgement, I guess.”

“One way or another, you’ll know by the end of the lesson. If they’re wrong we can always fit you again next time.” She smiles warmly but Keith almost snorts at the word ‘next’. _That’s a funny joke, Allura._ She saunters over to the rink door, swinging it open and gesturing towards it. “Let’s try them out, shall we?”

Keith gathers his wits and takes the first few steps slowly so he can test out how they feel. Allura glides onto the ice first and turns to face him.

“Now, there are a lot of differences between your usual hockey skates and these ones. A lot of it is in the blade,

but the overall fit of the boot is also very different. You may have some trouble adjusting to them at first - that is completely normal.” She extends a hand towards him as he places one skate on the ice but he shakes his head at it.

“I don’t think they’re that different, Allura. I’ve got this.” He says confidently.

Evidently, he does _not_ got this.

The second he puts weight on both skates, he practically slams into Allura. Thankfully, she expected this and was prepared to catch him, steadying him with a hand on his bicep and a knowing smile on her lips.

“As I said: I’ve been doing this for a while.” She pushes him slightly more upright but never removes her hand from his arm. “Figure skates have flatter and longer blades when compared to hockey skates so your whole approach to skating has to change. Firstly -” She begins to pull Keith out a little further onto the ice. “- you hockey players tend to rely on the inside edge of your skates. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, these skates have a toe pick so you need to focus on using the outer edges to skate. This means you can’t use a toe push like most hockey players do. Fortunately, we get more power with each stroke so once you make the switch, you’ll have to work less for more.”

Keith experiments with his weight placement, all the while clinging desperately to Allura’s arm. He occasionally feels the scrape of the toe pick against the ice and is momentarily thrown off balance, but doesn’t face plant. Yet.

“Secondly -” She taps Keith’s chin, forcing him to look up. “- your posture. The hockey stance has you all hunched forward and leaning towards the ice. We stand upright: shoulders back, chin high. Elegance is key.” She emphasizes this by squaring her shoulders back with a grin. “This will also help keep your weight off your toes.”

Hesitantly, he stands up straighter. He expects to fly backwards onto his ass, but that doesn’t happen. In fact, it somewhat helps to keep him more balanced on his feet. His weight now shifted towards the center of his feet, he isn’t slipping on the strange curve of the blade.

“Ha!” He lets out a small nervous giggle as he pushes off with a little more strength. “This - I guess this isn’t so bad. I think I’m getting the hang of it, actually.”

“You’re doing very well, Keith!” Allura beams. “You will still have to remind your body of its new movements until it solidifies into your muscle memory but, until then, me and Shiro will be here to help. Want to try skating on your own?”

Nerves briefly flutter in his stomach, but he pushes them back down. _You’ve spent most of your life on a rink. This is nothing._

“Oh - uh- yeah. Sure.”

Allura slowly lets go of his arm but doesn’t stray far. “Now remember,” she adds. “You want long, fluid strokes. Elegance.”

“Y-yeah. Right.” Keith has a hard time focusing on his words when he has to concentrate so intensely on _every single one of his movements_. For someone who has been skating for at least ten years, he looks a lot like a baby gazelle learning to walk. He tries to takes one more glide forward but catches his pick on the ice, which forces him to take several panicked steps to catch himself. He huffs out a breath as he straightens up.

“You’re alright.” Allura, her movements so fluid compared to his, keeps one hand slightly stretched out towards him. “You’re doing incredibly well. Why don’t we move over to Shiro?” She nods her head towards the man behind her, not even looking away from Keith as she does so.

Looking up, Keith takes this moment to admire her abilities. She was so incredible agile off the ice but, with her skates on her, it’s like her movements extend past the surface and out _into_ the ice. It’s hard to explain exactly how she moves, it’s unlike anything Keith has seen before, but _damn_ is it impressive.

“Keith?” She raises her eyebrows at him expectantly.

“Um, yeah - let’s go.”

She smiles another brilliant smile and loops her arm through his, slowly guiding them towards her co-coach. Shiro is several feet away and seems to be wrapped in a conversation with a pair of people, looking visibly annoyed. As they approach Keith starts to make out a few words.

“But Shiro, imagine how much it would add to the lesson!” The person has their back turned to Keith so he can’t quite make out their features but they are several heads shorter than his brother. This, however, doesn’t seem to stop them from defiantly folding their arms at him.

“I do not care how ‘cool’ it would look, Pidge, you can’t do that.” Shiro pinches the bridge of his nose as he talks, glancing over at the similar looking person beside ‘Pidge’. “You can’t seriously be siding with them, Matt?”

‘Matt’ practically _jumps_ at the direct attention from Shiro and begins to wring his hands in front of him. “I - I can’t say that I am. But you know how Pidge gets… There’s - there’s no arguing with them.”

“I am _right here_ .” Pidge waves their arms above their hand, the movement just reaching Shiro’s eye level. “And I’m telling you _it’s a great idea._ ”

Shiro glares down at Pidge, whose face is slowly coming into sight as Keith approaches, but somehow the glare is not nearly as intense as when it’s directed at him. What is this person doing to dissuade his stubborn brother? And where were they when Keith was a child, getting multiple punishment noogies a day??

Shiro lets out a long, drawn out sigh. “No way. You are not allowed.”

“But, why not?” Pidge huffs back at Shiro, clearly annoyed.

“Because there will be _children_ in this lesson, Pidge!”

“They need to learn how to navigate in this cruel and unforgiving world! They need thick skin if they’re going to get anywhere in life! You would deny them this opportunity to learn?” They shake their head. “You’re cruel.”

Allura, still dragging Keith closer, pipes up then. “What devilish plan have you concocted now?”

The whole group turns to face them now, having just noticed the mismatched pair of skaters inching towards them. Keith’s feet are unsure and clumsy in these new skates, whereas Allura, despite having 90% of Keith’s weight dumped on her left arm, is still nimble and exquisite in movement. It seems a miracle, honestly.

With their faces in full view, Keith notes the large, round glasses perched on Pidge’s nose, which slightly magnify their eyes. Their hair is a light shade of brown, wild in nature, and contrasted against their pale skin. They look nearly identical to Matt - who stands only slightly taller than Pidge but, otherwise, has few differences from them. Pidge has a large sports sweater draped over their shoulders, accents of green lining the edges, and thick electrical wire hung around their neck. Both they and Matt are in sneakers, somehow still leagues more steady than Keith is on his skates, but Matt looks uncomfortable standing on the ice. Pidge seems like the kind of person who has spent many hours on the rink, whereas Matt seems to glance longingly towards the door every few seconds - like he’s eager to leave.

Pidge opens their mouth to say something but Shiro clamps a hand down on their shoulder, speaking for them.

“Doesn’t matter because it’s not happening.” He sends one more half-hearted frown at the tiny person beside him before addressing Keith. “Well - don’t you look… wobbly.”

Keith wants to say something snarky but the majority of his concentration is still fixated on his feet. Thankfully, Allura speaks for him.

“Hey, now! Keith is doing very well for his first time in figure skates! There is no need to be rude.”

If the frown he gave Pidge was half-hearted, then the frown he gives Allura is sixteenth-hearted. He is wrapped around this woman’s finger - how is he going to survive?

“Keith…” Pidge fixes their gaze on him then, squinting slightly like they’re sizing him up. “So _you’re_ Shiro’s brother.”

“Yes?” Allura pulls Keith to a shaky stop by the group, relinquishing her grip on his arm at last. “Jeez Shiro, I didn’t realize you talk about me that much.”

“I don’t.” Shiro rolls his eyes. “Pidge just knows everything.”

This puts a smug grin on the young person’s face. Keith isn’t quite sure how much younger they are than the rest of them but he’d probably guess around four years. Enough to make Keith feel strange, seeing as he’s usually the youngest in a crowd. The smugness seems out of place on such a young face, but something tells Keith it’s not empty gloating. Maybe it’s the mischievous glint in their eye or maybe just how they carry themselves - he isn’t sure.

“Well,” Matt cuts in, patting Pidge affectionately on the head. “Not _everything_.”

“Don’t start with me, Matt. I have so much blackmail against you.”

Matt laughs at his sibling’s (not-so-empty) threats and extends a hand to Keith. “Matt - I’m this twerp’s older brother.”

It takes a lot of mental fortitude to shake his hand and not fall over, but Keith manages it.

“Keith - this twerp’s _younger_ brother.” He says nodding at Shiro.

“You and I need to join forces, Keith.” Pidge pushes their glasses further up onto their nose. “Us younger siblings need to stick together, right?”

“When you’re both aggravating troublemakers, you’ll need all the help you can get.” Shiro remarks. Pidge rewards him with a ‘that was such an awful dig why do you even try?’ look and Matt practically _giggles_ at Shiro. Keith shakes his head and sighs. He forgot what it was like to spend so much time in public with his brother. “Anyways, the lesson starts soon and I need to get the kids lined up.” Shiro brushes the hair from his face and moves to leave, but Keith raises a hand.

_Wait. What?_

“Kids?”

Shiro turns to look at Keith, an eyebrow raised. “Yes. Kids. It’s the stage of life that comes before adolescence and after infancy.”

“Uuuugh,” Keith groans at the intense _dadness_ that was that joke (and takes note of the similar groan Pidge makes). “No, I mean, why are there kids on the ice right now? Isn’t my lesson at nine thirty?”

“It is. But, so is theirs. It’s the same lesson.” Shiro starts to push away from the group to where a few children make their way onto the rink, watching Keith as he stares in disbelief. “Who did you think would be in a tadpole class?”

And with that, he’s gone. Leaving Keith to absorb the fact that he, a 22 year-old man, will be skating alongside 6 and 7 year-olds who are, no doubt, better than him at figure skating. This already terrible situation just became infinitely worse.

“Keith,” Allura presses in beside him, probably sensing his sudden urge to run _very far away_ , and grabs a hold of his arm once more. “Why don’t we skate a lap or two to get you warmed up before the lesson?”

Keith knows the difference between a suggestion and an order and this - this was an order.

He nods unhappily and accepts his demise.

“Good. Oh and Pidge, a few things before you go.” Allura fixes her gaze on Pidge and it seems to have a much stronger effect on them than Shiro’s did. She jabs a finger in their direction. “Firstly, no tech nonsense during this lesson. I will not have you terrifying these children during their first ever lesson - no matter how helpful you say it will be.” Pidge’s posture sinks down as they hunch over in disappointment but Allura pushes on. “And secondly, have you heard from Lance? We asked him to help us with today’s lessons, but he has yet to show up.”

Despite the exaggerated pout that they have adopted, Pidge answers her. “I haven’t heard from him yet, no. But you know Lance: he needs at least four hours every morning to get ready.” They roll their eyes in disgust. “It’s a wonder Hunk can live with that creature. I’d sooner drink bleach than spend even a single night with him and his prima donna nonsense.”

Allura ignores their complaining entirely, propping one hand on her hip in mild frustration. “I know Lance is usually late but I asked him to keep an eye on the clock today. It is important he be on time for this lesson.”

“It’s _Lance_ , Allura. Honestly, what do you expect?” Pidge scoffs but they look up at Matt anyways and nudge him in the arm. “How about you, Matt? Have you heard from Lance this morning?”

Matt, who is looking off across the ice to where Shiro has kneeled down to greet the hoard of children, suddenly starts, realizing that he was still technically part of the conversation.

“Oh - Um - Uh, no. No, I haven’t.” He scratches at his neck as Keith watches a blush grow across the bridge of his nose. “Sorry.”

Pidge gives their brother an almost pitying look before turning back to Allura.

“I’m sure we’ll see _His Royal Majesty_ soon enough.” They grab a hold of their brother’s sleeve and take a few steps away from Keith and Allura. “Anyways, we have things to do before tonight’s practice. We’ll see you later.”

Allura waves them off with her free hand and gives a slight tug on Keith.

“Alright,” she says, all smiles as she waves them off. Her intense gaze fixates back on Keith. “Now: one lap.”

Keith mumbles something that could be taken as an agreement and allows himself to be pulled along by the confident woman. He is slightly smoother on the ice this time. He catches his toe pick on the ice a few times and Allura has to continuously remind him to ‘stand up straight’ but, other than that, Keith is starting to feel slightly more comfortable in these skates. Allura has even moved away from his side so he can start to add some arm movements into his body language. Maybe he’ll get through the day not _completely_ hating his life afterall.  
Keith hears his brother’s voice, annoyed and accusatory, ring out from across the rink and, thinking the remarks are directed towards him, looks over to him. He manages to just see a tall, lanky individual with tanned skin all but float across the ice towards Shiro. His movements are so smooth and effortless, it barely looks like he puts any weight on his skates. These are the movements of someone who has spent years perfecting their skills and it _shows_.

Keith may or may not be slightly mesmerized by how he skates. Watching how he glides in circles around his brother, rolling his eyes and waving his hands dismissively at what he’s being berated for, he looks like he belongs on the ice. As he circles, Shiro doesn’t even bother turning to face him, just waits for him to come back into view so he can jab his finger at him accusingly. The tall boy comes to an easy and fluid stop in front of him, hands on his hips, and Keith can practically see the eye roll in his body language.

Still somewhat focused on the task at hand, Keith continues to skate towards Allura but keeps his eyes glued to the newcomer on the ice. He _almost_ wishes he was a little closer so he could get a better look at him - just to see his technique, of course.

It’s then that Shiro gestures across the ice towards him and the boy’s gaze follows.

It’s also then that Keith shifts his weight just _a little_ too far forward, catches his toe pick, and slams his chin down into the ice.

Allura is there in a flash.

“Oh! Keith - I’m sorry! I was distracted and wasn’t there to catch you!” She places a hand delicately on his shoulder, eyes doting and concerned. “Are you alright?”

If Keith’s face wasn’t burning like he’d just fallen straight into a mound of coals, he’d look up at her, but it most definitely is. So instead, he keeps his head tucked down and only gives her a slight nod. Here he was, admiring possible the most graceful skater he’d ever seen while he looks like the ugly duckling on skates. _Nicely done, Keith. I’m sure that was very attractive._

To make matters worse, Shiro decides to slide in beside Allura and kneel down to get a look better look at his moronic brother.

“You okay, Keith?” He forces his chin up and inspects his face, letting out a relieved sigh when he seems pleased with how it looks. “You look alright - no serious damage from what I can tell. How do you feel?”

“Uhm,” Keith, having been pried for his cocoon of shame, now notices that the lanky skater has also glided along behind Shiro, with his hands shoved deep into his pants pockets, to peer down at him with a curious, albeit, annoyed look. Keith blushes fiercely but still manages to push himself up. “F-Fine. I’m - I’m fine.”

“That toe pick is annoying at first,” Shiro grabs him by the hand and pulls him to his feet. “You’ll get used to it soon.”

“I was doing just fine before -” Keith clamps his mouth shut, cutting off whatever embarrassing sentence he was about to say. He risks a glance over at the stranger. He seems to be no longer interested in Keith at all, now staring off towards the growing group of children with his arms crossed and bottom lip jutted out.

“Before?” Shiro raises an eyebrow.

Keith pries his eyes off the tall figure and shakes his head at his brother. “Nothing. I was just - distracted.”

“Well, it’s best to get it out of your system now; the lesson starts in a few minutes.” Shiro pats him on the shoulder encouragingly. “I’ll try to go easy on you today - nothing too intense for my tadpole little brother.”

“Now, now, Shiro.” Allura bats him gently on the arm. “You were a beginner once, too. In fact, I seem to remember you struggling more than Keith during your first lesson.”

Shiro smiles over at her, his chest puffed out slightly. “The difference is: he wasn’t there to witness it. It’s my duty as an older brother to hold these things over his head.”

“Yes, well… Don’t be _too_ hard on him.” Allura furrows her brows at her partner before pushing away from the three remaining boys.

“Yeah, Shiro.” Keith grins devilishly, raising his voice as he talks. “Otherwise Allura will have to _punish you_.”

Keith tries to shove every possible innuendo into that comment with his tone alone and, clearly, it seems to have worked. Shiro’s face turns an intense shade of red once more and he desperately looks to see if Allura heard the remark. No dice. Keith is only a little disappointed.

His comment also earns an amused snort from the mystery skater a few steps away. Keith catches his eye and, when he sees barely contained laughter bubbling from behind long fingers, his disappointment fades ever so slightly.

“You- ” Shiro says through clenched teeth, fixing Keith with a pointed and flustered glare. “Shut it. And you -” The next jab is directed towards the other laughing boy. “You are in enough trouble as it is. Don’t dig yourself into a deeper hole.”

“What can I say, Shiro?” He shrugs, hands held out in front of him defensively. “I take pleasure in seeing you embarrassed. Especially after all the torment you put me and the team through.”

Shiro runs a hand down his face, exasperated. “Uuuughhh, I don’t deserve this.”

Keith goes to nudge his brother in the ribs but ends up losing his footing and falling forward into his chest. Keith can see the brief moment where he contemplates letting him fall but, in the end, Shiro grabs him by the arm and hoists him back up. The lanky skater appraises Keith’s shaky legs and awkward stance with a raise of his eyebrow - obviously not impressed. Keith tries to ignore his judgement but it only serves to rile him up slightly.

“I guess I should introduce you two.” Shiro gestures between the two of them as he speaks. “Keith, Lance. Lance, Keith.” Keith nods mutely in Lance’s direction, receiving another judgemental look in return. “Keith is my younger brother and one of your students today, Lance.”

Keith blanches, his heart stopping mid-beat. _No way_.

“You can’t be serious.” Lance groans, throwing his hands in the air.

“What? I told you I needed a hand teaching the tadpole class and you agreed to it. I need you to focus on getting Keith on his feet while I handle the young kids.” Shiro turns to address Keith. “Lance is one of my top skaters here. He’s competed in championships for many years now and knows his stuff. He is more than capable to teach you the basics.”

Keith doesn’t need Shiro to tell him that. Lance’s comfort on the ice is enough evidence that he knows what he’s doing. Keith suddenly feels _very_ uncomfortable with the idea that someone so talented will be watching him flop around on the ice like a fish.

“Uh, Shiro. You know - I just - I _really_ don’t feel good. I don’t think I can go through with this.”

“Oh no you don’t.” Shiro holds a hand up in front of him, stopping Keith’s words right there. “You are doing this.”

Keith goes to respond with another complaint but Lance beats him to it.

“Hey, if he doesn’t want to do it, then you can’t force the guy.” Lance spins on his heels and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Guess I’m not needed anymore, so I’ll just head home. Nice meeting you, Mullet. Try to not smash your face on the ice as you leave.” He presses his right blade into the ice and pushes off, but Shiro snags his shirt and drags him back.

“Nope. This is happening. Both of you are staying.”

“Shiro -”

“Just give up. You will not get me to back down from this.” Shiro places one hand on Keith’s shoulder and the other on Lance’s. “I know this will be good for you. Both of you.” His expression softens just slightly as he looks them each in the eye. “Give it a shot, okay? Trust me on this one.”

Lance holds his gaze intently - Keith notices something deeper imbedded in the look they share, something he isn’t privy to - but Shiro doesn’t back away, holding steady under the heavy look. Eventually, Lance sighs.

“Fine.” He shrugs off Shiro’s grip and folds his arm across his chest. “Fine.”

“Good.” Shiro shifts his attention away from the sulking skater. “Keith?”

Arguing with Shiro when he’s stuck on an idea is a lost cause - Keith had learned this a long time ago - but, with the twinges of anxiety still plucking at his gut, he briefly contemplates doing it anyways. He bites the inside of his lip as he thinks. _One lesson_ , he reminds himself. _It’s just one lesson_.

“Whatever.” He admits defeat, and goes to mimic Lance’s pose. He still doesn’t wrestle out of his brother’s grip, though, in fear of falling over.

“Great. Now,” Shiro nods his head off towards the entrance of the rink. “Keith, you can line up. And Lance, you go stretch before we start.”

“Oh come on, Shiro - we won’t be doing anything difficult. I don’t even need to stretch.”

Shiro barely even reacts to anything he says. “Stretch. Now.”

With another huff, Lance rolls his eyes and heads over to the boards to get ready for the lesson. Keith watches him as he swings one long leg up against the boards and bends forward over it, pressing his nose to his knee. Shiro bumps him on the arm and gestures for him to follow. He leads them towards the group of children, now lined up against the boards thanks to Allura. She is talking to each of them, in turn, smiling broadly at whatever they say and they are just lapping it up.

Shiro points Keith towards the end of the line where a dark skinned girl stands. A curly poof of hair is gathered at the top of her head and she continuously twirls her skirt in her hands, smiling to herself. The embarrassment flares in Keith’s chest at being in a line up of people so much younger than him, but he ducks his head and wobbles his way over to her. She beams up at him once he gets close enough, crinkling her nose in amusement.

“Hi!” Her voice is like a squeak compared to Keith’s and it takes him by surprise.

“Uh, hi.” Keith rubs at the back of his neck and leans against the boards, hoping they’ll collapse on top of him and he’ll be sent to the hospital instead of having to stay here. Unfortunately, this doesn’t happen.

The little girl squints at him and Keith stares back. He notices a cloud of freckles adorning her nose and cheeks, faint against the dark tint of her skin. Her eyes are just as dark in colour yet they are bright in spirit. She may seem cute but something tells him she’s a troublemaker. She places her hands on her hips and furrows her eyebrows together when she finally addresses him.

“Your hair is funny looking.” She says in as serious of a tone that her squeaky voice can muster.

Keith is taken aback by the sudden insult, especially by someone that only comes up to his waist, and he sputters in shock. Hwaves his hand uselessly in front of him while he searches for a proper response but never manages to come up with something before she continues.

“It’s really long for a boy. It’s weird.” She seems genuinely perplexed by his choice in hairstyle, which Keith would find funny if she hadn’t so earnestly insulted him three seconds earlier.

“W-well,” Keith stutters. “Boys can have long hair, you know. A-and I happen to like my hair long so - uhm - yeah.”

_How very eloquent, Keith. You’re one heck of a role model._

She, however, ignores how much of a mess he is, and actually considers what he’s said. She taps the front of her skate thoughtfully on the ice as she mulls it over.

“Hmmm… Well… my mom always says that people might make fun of _my_ hair even though there’s nothing wrong with it. She says that some people don’t like things that are different and as long as I’m happy, then it doesn’t matter what they think.” Keith blinks at her in shock. _Christ, how old is this kid?_ “So I guess if you like it, then it’s okay!”

“Uh, wow. Your - your mom sounds like a really cool person.” Keith says dumbly, somewhat floored by her mature response.

“Ugh - No she’s not. She embarrasses me all the time and it’s annoying.” And, just like that, it’s forgotten. She moves on from the hair discussion and takes the opportunity to spin in a quick circle on the ice. _Oh great, she’s already better on the ice than he is._ “Do you like my dress? My mom just bought it for me!”

The bright pink of her skirt sparkles under the sharp fluorescent lighting and then fades into an almost obnoxious amount of sequins on the bodice that extend all the way down her arms. She does one more twirl for good measure, making sure to show off every inch of it.

“It’s -- very pretty.” Keith tries his best to mimic Allura’s warm smile. “I really like it.”

She accepts this as an adequate answer and grins happily up at him. “Thanks! I like your…” She looks him up and down, taking in the dark sweater he found buried under a semi-clean pile of laundry and the same black jeans he’s been wearing this whole week. “...uhhhh... skates! I wanted pink ones but the salesman didn’t have any. So now we match!” She wiggles one foot in the air, showing off her white leather skates, identical to his in everything but size.

“Uh - thanks.” He can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. He still viciously wants to leave this god forsaken arena but she has managed to take some of the nerves out of his system.

So, of course, that’s when Shiro, standing in front of the lineup, claps his hands twice to catch their attention.

“Alright everyone!” He puts one hand on his hip as he talks, a kind smile playing at his lips. “My name is Coach Shiro and I’m going to be teaching all of you for the next six weeks. Now - have any of you ever skate before?”

A few of the children, including Keith’s conversation partner, nod excitedly. Keith doesn’t answer that question for several reasons, but most of them are: embarrassment. In fact, he tunes out most of what Shiro says - something about trust and teamwork - and looks around the rink. Several parents are seated out on the rafters, watching their children eagerly and snapping a few shots on their cellphones. Keith cringes and turns his back to the crowd so he can avoid having his face in any pictures. He lets his eyes drift across the rink once more, this time landing on Lance.

He has one arm pulled out across his chest, stretching out the muscles in the back of his arm and shoulder. He spends only a few seconds on that before twisting his back from side to side with his arms held loosely beside him. He thinks for a few seconds, reaching down to grasp his left knee where he massages it gently. Even from far away, Keith can see a small wince as he does so, but Lance ignores it and carries on. He pulls that knee up to his chest, giving it a few strong tugs that last several beats longer than he gave his arms, before grabbing his ankle and pulling his leg back and above his head in a long arc. He leans his weight forward on his foot, his other hand coming to rest on the boards. Slowly, ever so slowly, he stretches into a standing split and Keith swears he might pass out. _F-fuck he’s flexible_. Once he’s satisfied, he lets go of his leg and switches to the other side.

Keith snaps back to reality as Shiro claps once more.

“Okay! That’s all! Let’s get started.” Shiro pushes sideways towards Keith as the kids slowly make their way to one end of the rink. Before he reaches him, Keith feels a tug on his hand and looks down to find his pink-clad companion holding onto him

“By the way,” she gives their joined hands a small swing. “My name’s Tia!”

Keith blinks down at his hand gripped tightly in hers and smiles faintly. “Keith.”

“Keith..” She tests out his name with a furrow of her brow. It doesn’t last long, however, and she smiles once more before letting go of his hand. “Are you gonna skate with me?”

“Uhh,” Keith watches how confidently she pushes herself away from him and suddenly panics. “I’m -”

“Actually, Tia,” Shiro arrives then and squats down to her level. “Keith is going to be skating with one of my other students. You’ll have to find him later so you can show off all you’ve learned.”

She pouts at the two men in front of her. “But _I_ wanted to skate with Keith!”

“No can-do, tadpole.” Her pout increases but Shiro moves on. “Tell you what, you can skate with me instead. How does that sound?”

She takes a second to appraise him. Her gaze stalls on the scar on his nose and his prosthetic arm but they don’t seem to bother her too much because she nods mutely, her hands clasped behind her as she rocks on her heels.

“Alright then - you head over to the rest of the group and I’ll be there in a minute. Okay?”

She agrees again and makes it a few smooth strokes away before stopping to look at them again.

“Keith! You can’t leave until I say goodbye, okay?” She stares Keith down, somehow managing to look just as intimidating as Shiro can be even though she’s barely four feet tall.

Shiro looks expectantly over at him, eyebrows raised like: _You gonna answer her?_

“Uh - sure. Okay. I’ll be here.” He raises a hand in a quick wave, which she accepts and begins skating off again, pink skirt flapping against her legs.

“So,” Shiro cuts in, looking across the rink towards Lance to wave him over. “I’ll have Lance teach you the same stuff as the rest of the group and then a few other things on top of that. You’ll probably pick things up quickly so you can graduate onto the next few moves.” Lance halts next to them with a sharp skid to the side and Shiro greets him with a nod. “All stretched out?”

“Yup! I even got a little further on my back bend today.” Lance shakes his arms out at his side and rolls his neck. “It’s not like I needed it for what I’ll be doing today but whatever.”

Shiro ignores that last comment and gestures towards the opposite end of the rink.

“You two can work over there so you won’t be bombarded by twirling children. Lance - work him through bunny hops, pumps, lunges, mohawks, and some two foot spins. Once he’s got those down you can move onto chassés, crossovers, waltz jumps, and one foot spins.”

Lance glances over at Keith with a judgemental stare. “Are you sure he’ll get through all that?”

“Laaance.” Shiro draws out his name in a warning. “Don’t be an ass.”

“All I’m saying is he’s barely able to keep himself upright when he’s _not_ moving.” Lance addresses Keith directly now. “Are you sure you’ve ever even _been_ on ice before?”

Keith shoots him the most lethal glare he can manage. Flexible or not, this guy didn’t seem to care about anyone other than himself. “Shut up.”

“Lance. Play nice.” Shiro scolds. “You too, Keith. I’m counting on you guys to behave for the next hour and a half. Just - don’t kill each. That’s all I ask.”

Neither of them respond but Keith isn’t confident he can keep that promise.

With a long, drawn out sigh, Shiro gives up and leaves them alone to glare at one another.

It only really lasts a few seconds before Lance, obviously very put upon by the situation, rolls his eyes and skates away with one strong push.

“Let’s just get this over with.” He barely puts any effort in his movements and, thankfully, keeps his back to Keith as he has to put way too much energy into _his_ movements. “Show me what you can do, Helmet Hair.”

* * *

 

Figure skating, Keith learns, is very, very different than hockey.

Well, he already knew that. Figure skating has no nets or pucks or players trying to slam you into the boards. But the _technique_ \- Keith has to ignore almost everything he was ever taught by his current coach. It’s aggravating, to say the least.

Lance makes him skate around in pathetic circles for a few minutes before he finally deems him capable of trying actual figure skating moves. Keith’s stomach flip flops nervously.

“So, the bunny hop.” Lance says, spinning around Keith in lazy circles. “You start with a one foot glide - I usually use my left foot - and swing yourself into a jump with your free foot. Then, push off on that toe pick and go back into a glide.” He straightens out on the ice and demonstrates. “Glide on one foot, pick with the other, glide back on the first. Left, right, left.” He skids to a halt and stands in front of Keith, clearly bored. “Your turn.”

Keith takes one deep breath, focuses on finding the right balance on his skate, and pushes forward. Tentatively, he lifts his right foot off the ice and makes a pitiful attempt at jumping on the ice. He feels his toe pick dig into the ice but uses too much strength on the push off and goes careening forward, nearly wiping out in the process. He stands up with windmilling arms and faces Lance who has a hand pressed to his face.

“Oh my god,” he mumbles. “This is going to be a _long_ hour and a half.”

* * *

 

Keith manages to perform a mildly successful bunny hop after many attempts. Lance lets out an unenthusiastic cheer when Keith spins around with a small smile and takes the moment to remind him of how long it took him to get there.

Keith wishes it was possible to murder someone with just a look.

From there, he moves onto a pump - which is not nearly as challenging, lunges - also pretty straightforward, and mohawks - which stump him for a bit but he eventually suffers through a wobbly one and is given the okay to continue.

“Alright - the last one on the starter list is a two foot spin.” Lance begins to pivot around one foot before tucking his arms into his body and spinning at a speed that Keith is certain will make him hurl. He comes to an abrupt stop with a jab of his toe pick and looks at Keith with an eyebrow raised. “With your left toe pick in the ice, pump your right leg out to pick up speed. Once you’ve gotten enough momentum behind you, shift off of your pick and spin. Tadaa.”

“You say it like it’s so easy, but I’ll probably just end up face first on the ice.” Keith pushes his pick into the ice and slowly starts to rotate around it, arms extended to keep his balance.

“Yeah, probably.” Lance shrugs as he watches Keith turn in place.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Whatever, just start the spin, Mullet.”

Keith starts to push harder, praying that he doesn’t face plant, and slowly takes the weight off his pick. He _does_ manage to get through a few full rotations but his weight quickly shifts too far to one side and he tumbles backwards onto his ass. He blows air through his teeth as he rubs at the small of his back with a wince.

“Well,” Lance appears beside him, squatting so he can look him in the eye. “At least it wasn’t your face.”

“ _At least._ ” Keith resists the urge to spit in his face.  

“You know, this is honestly kind of impressive.” Lance watches him struggle to his feet, not offering any help as he wobbles. “We’ve been at this for the full hour and a half and yet you’ve _barely_ managed to get through what those seven year olds -” he gestures across the rink. “- probably mastered in minutes.”

Keith clenches his fists at his side, eyes boring into the side of Lance’s head as he rises to his feet and skates backwards and twirls around Keith’s shaky form.

“I thought you were a pro on the ice, bro.” He clasps his hands behind his back as he talks, legs smoothly propelling him forward. “Scores hard, top player, golden child of the team. Did they mix up the names of something? ‘Cause I don’t see any of that here on _this_ ice.” He folds his arms behind his head and grins teasingly at Keith as he moves. “You know, I teach four year olds who already skate backwards by themselves and yet here you are barely able to keep yourself upright.”

Keith can feel the anger pushing at his self control. He knows Lance is trying to get a rise out of him. He _knows_ Lance wants to annoy him. But he can’t stop the knee jerk reaction that is his temper.

He notices that most of the kids have dispersed towards the rafters to greet their parents and Shiro is staring curiously towards the pair of them. Keith thinks of calling out to him, or just leaving entirely, but Lance continues to poke jabs at him.

“When Shiro asked me to help teach the tadpole class, I never thought I’d also get to teach a beached fish.” He rubs at his chin pensively, all attitude and conceit.

A higher pitched voice rings out from behind Keith’s shoulder and a familiar tuft of brown hair emerges to his left. “That doesn’t even make sense, Lance.”

“Shut up, Pidge!” Lance comes to a halt, eyes focusing in on the new comer. “Where did you even come from?”

“The depths of hell.” Pidge, now wearing skates, stops a few feet from the both of them, strangely interested in the drama unfolding. “You know, you’re usually a pain but today you’re being a first class ass.”

Keith feels a little relieved to have at least _someone_ defending him, even though the aggravation still boils under his skin. He briefly wonders why Shiro didn’t intervene before Pidge.

“You’d be acting the same way if you had this mess dropped in _your_ lap without warning.” Lance throws his hands up in the air dramatically.

Ah, and there it is. The metaphorical straw that breaks the metaphorical camel’s back.

Letting his growing temper get the better of him, Keith straight up _lunges_ for Lance. He expects his feet to go flying out from underneath of him but, somehow, he stays upright and actually manages to snag the edge of Lance’s coat between his fingers before he’s backing away.

“Whoa! That was surprisingly nimble of you, Mullet. I’m actually impressed.” Lance comments. And damn him, he actually looks it. Genuine surprise lines his features. It only further fuels Keith’s anger.

“That.” he hisses. “Is not. My name.”

“Why the hell would you sport such an awful haircut if you didn’t want people to make fun of it?” Lance frowns at him. “There’s no way anyone _actually_ likes that mistake of a style.”

This time, Keith manages to wrap his hand around Lance’s wrist and, man, does that wipe the grin off his smug face. He locks eyes with Keith and obviously sees the fury brewing there because he immediately starts moving away from him. Keith’s grip is strong, though, and his temper has fully taken over at this point so he just clings on as Lance drags them both across the ice.

“Ha,” Lance barks out a nervous laugh and starts prying at Keith’s fingers. “Well you’re, uh, improving quickly. Say - why don’t we try that two foot spin again?” Keith neither changes his expression nor removes his grip so Lance looks over to Pidge. “Pidge? How about some help here?”

“Mmmmm,” Keith hears Pidge hum to themself for a second. “Tempting, but no. Have fun, Lance.” And with that Pidge heads back over to the far side of the rink where Shiro still stands.

Lance locks eyes with Keith once more and, in a desperate attempt to break free, raises his arm to force Keith into a spin. By some miracle, Keith doesn’t fall back onto his ass. In fact, he successfully spins in place and cleanly stops himself with his right pick, locking eyes with Lance once more. Lance stares at him in disbelief, looking between his feet and his face in quick, panicked glances.

“Keith…”

Keith experiments with one push forward. Seems steady enough.

“ _Keith._ ”

Another step. Even better.

Keith’s lip twitches as he glares at Lance and -

“Don’t you dare.”

\- speeds towards him.

Lance shrieks like he’s about to be skinned alive - which is a legitimate possibility at this moment in time - and speeds off across the rink. Keith, finally _finally_ , steady on his feet, races after him. What Keith lacks in proper technique, he makes up for in speed. If there’s one thing he picked up from hockey, is how to get across a rink quickly. Sure, Lance is all elegance and grace, but that doesn’t mean anything when an angry hockey player prone to starting fights is hot on your heels. Keith nearly snags the back of his sweater a few times but Lance spins out of his reach just in time. As they near Shiro’s end of the rink, Keith realizes that his brother has left the ice and is leaning on the boards in amusement, chin rested in his hand.

Lance spots him only a few seconds later.

“Shiro!” He pants, his form breaking into a desperate flee. “Make him stop!”

Shiro makes no move to help. “You brought this on yourself, Lance.”

“I don’t want to be a teacher anymore!” He loops in a large arc around the ice but Keith follows a straight line across, cutting him off at the end.

“Nahhh,” Shiro’s voice carries over to them as they stand across from each other, both heaving in breaths, like two boxers in a ring. “You’re doing great! Besides, you got him out of his head and look - he’s skating perfectly!”

Keith takes one step forward and Lance all but jumps out of his skin.

“He’s gonna _kill me_!”

“Try not to get too much blood on the ice, Keith.” Keith doesn’t turn around to see his expression but he hears Shiro chuckle. He takes that as his invitation to beat the ever living crap out of this smart mouth in front of him and that-

That is something he does _very well_.

 

Keith is just about to fly towards Lance when a tiny voice rings out across the ice and breaks his focus.

“Keith!”

He glances over his shoulder to see Tia skating at full speed over to him, her hair no longer contained by an elastic and blowing around her face as she skates. Behind her, a concerned looking woman stands at the entrance of the rink, watching Tia race towards some stranger with bloodlust in his eyes.

“Tia?” Keith turns fully now, to face her, his attention momentarily diverted.

“Look! Look what I learned!” Mid-stroke she moves into an effortless bunny hop, mohawks to change direction, and then pushes into a near perfect two foot spin. She’s slightly wobbly as she comes to a stop but the stark difference between her execution of those moves and Keith’s is so painfully obvious that he has to hold back a cringe of embarrassment. “I can do them all by myself! Shiro says I’m a natural!”

Keith glances over at Shiro who has joined the woman on the ice, patting her shoulder reassuringly before skating off towards the three of them.

“Wow - um,” Keith tries to push down the still-hot anger boiling inside him and force out a smile as he talks. “That’s really good, Tia.”

She beams a blinding smile at him and twirls on the spot. “Now it’s your turn! Show me what you learned!”

Keith stalls. “Uhh - ”

“Yeah, Keith.” Lance’s voice, although still somewhat shaky, sing songs behind him. “Show her.”

Barely moving, he sends another look of death over his shoulder at Lance which shuts him up. Turning back to Tia, he fumbles for an excuse.

“You see, Tia…. My, uh, my skates aren’t the right size so - my feet are really hurting right now.” She dons that same pout from earlier so Keith adds. “Maybe next time?”

“Hmph,” she folds her arms over her chest with a sigh but accepts his mediocre excuse. “Fine. But you have to show me next time! You _have to_!” And with that, she pushes off and away, not giving Keith the chance to come up with a reason for why he can’t do that. She grants him one last wave before her mom scoops her up and carries her towards the main entrance.

Shiro looks back at the disappearing pair with a smile. “Well, it seems you made a friend, Keith. I’m proud.”

“Shut it, Shiro.”

“I remember back in school when you’d fight with everyone who so much as looked at you.” Shiro puts a hand over his heart. “Oh, how you’ve grown.”

“He hasn’t grown _that_ much, seeing as he still picked a fight with me.” Lance skates past Keith, keeping a large gap between them.

“Yes, but you deserved that.”

“WHY IS NO ONE ON MY SIDE?” Lance throws his hands up - dramatic seems to be a character trait of his.

“Do you really want an answer to that?” Shiro quirks an eyebrow at him.

Lance doesn’t grace them with another response, instead he crosses his arms and skates away with an angry huff. Shiro just shakes his head.

“Is he always like that?” Keith asks. Lance has now found Pidge by the rink entrance, who fiddles with the laces of their skates while Lance rambles animatedly. His pompousness is still palpable from this far away which honestly isn’t shocking. And to think, Keith was flustered over him just hours ago.

“Well,” Shiro rolls his shoulders as he talks, trying to work out some kinks in the muscles. “He isn’t _that bad_. Sure, he likes to poke fun at others, but he really is a good guy and an incredible skater.”

“I don’t know, Shiro. He’s kind of an ass.”

“Give it some time.” Shiro looks over at the skater in question, his gaze pensive. “He grows on you.”

“Yeah,” Keith snorts. “I’m sure.”

“Anyways,” Shiro continues, changing the topic. “How was the lesson? You looked pretty good at the end there.”

“When I was trying to murder Lance? Nothing like white hot fury to focus your mind.” Keith jokes but Shiro doesn’t react. He continues. “Don’t get too excited, though; up until then I hadn’t improved much from when the lesson started.”

“Mmm, well, just remember that you’re still adjusting to the skates. You’ll get there.” Shiro smiles. “And Allura was right: you’re better than I was when I started.”

“Okay who are you and what did you do with my brother?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Shiro rolls his eyes. “Honestly though, I think you should continue. I can already see a difference in your stance.”

“Shirooooo,” Keith whines.

“I’m serious, Keith.” He places a hand on his shoulder. “I really do think this will help you.”

Keith stares at his brother skeptically. Nothing about today makes him want to come back for another torture session. It was nothing but embarrassment, harassment, and frustration. What Shiro sees in him and in this sport, he doesn’t know.

Shiro holds up a hand, halting the thoughts rolling through Keith’s mind.

“Just think about it. Okay? That’s all I ask.”

Again, Shiro is stubborn. He has this way of getting you to do things you told yourself you’d never do. Not only that, but he makes you feel like it was _your_ idea in the first place. It’s something Keith has both hated and admired in him for a long time, and it’s probably why he makes such a good coach.

So, with a heavy sigh, Keith nods. “Fine. But I promise nothing.”

“I expected nothing else.” Shiro smiles warmly down at him, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Now, I’ve got another lesson to get to. You can stick around if you like, but I won’t be done for a few hours.”

“I’ll probably just head home and catch up on the sleep that was _stolen from me_.” Keith narrows his eyes but Shiro just laughs.

“You do that.”

 

Keith doesn’t do that.

He _was_ going to leave but, after he pried of his skates, he looked back over at the rink to where Shiro was demonstrating a jump to Lance and Pidge and had gotten sucked in.

He’s never _actually_ seen his brother compete. After Shiro left their hockey team, Keith started to harbour a lot of resentment towards him. They had grown up playing hockey together and it had become one of the major foundations of their relationship. So, when Shiro had left to skate with someone he met at a competition, it was hard for Keith to accept. They didn’t talk for a while after that. Keith had poured himself into his training and Shiro had done the same. It took a long time before they started talking again, let alone get back to the close bond they had before. Keith was sometimes still worried it would never quite be back to normal.

So Keith can’t really be blamed for not going to any of his competitions. Every invitation Shiro extended to him was just another dig into that open wound that had formed years earlier. But now, hidden at the back of the rafters, Keith finally watches his brother perform the sport he left years of talent and skill for.

And he is _good._

Keith doesn’t know much about figure skating, but he can tell when someone knows what they’re doing and Shiro… He moves like he had been born to do this. With all the grace that Lance had, combined with the power from his hockey days, Shiro moves through complicated jumps like they were nothing. Keith watches him jump off the ice, spin so fast that he lost count of the rotations, and land smoothly, leg extended behind him. Keith could barely jump an inch off the ice and his brother could fling himself at least a foot, if not more, into the air with barely any visible effort.

The other two skaters are hardly any worse. Keith isn’t well-versed enough in the sport to spot the technical differences between them and their coach, so they look just as graceful, just as smooth, and just as impressive as his brother. It irks him to think this, but, now that he was doing more than beginner’s moves, Lance looks like a professional. And Pidge, despite being several heads shorter than the other two, completes everything they do with just as much perfection.

However, tucked in the shadows of the rafters, Keith starts to feel like he’s looking in on something he shouldn’t be. He peels his eyes away from the ice and begins to make his way to the front door. Allura is there, talking to a tall man with shock red hair and the most ridiculous moustache Keith has ever seen. She spots him as he reaches the front door, catching his eye just in time to grant him another bright smile before he disappears out into the parking lot.

 

The walk back to the subway is plagued with thoughts with his brother and his students gliding across the ice like it was nothing. He remembers how Lance barely needed to look where he was going while he skated, the movements second nature to him. He remembers the ease with which Allura moved and how talented she must be if she was the person that planted this sport in his brother’s heart. Keith barely registers when the subway doors close and he sways from side to side by the bumping of the train. Instead, he begins to wonder what kind of routines they’ve performed over the course of their training… What they look like in an actual competition, not just goofing around on the ice with their friends.

He wonders all these things but it isn’t until he’s back in the cramped and chaotic mess of his apartment that he pulls his laptop off his coffee table and hesitantly types four words into his search bar.

_Shirogane Takashi figure skating_

* * *

 

Several hours later, Keith can be found asleep on his couch, head propped up on an old, moth-eaten pillow, snoring softly. Resting on his stomach, his laptop plays a video of two skaters, hands linked, gliding across polished ice as a roaring crowd cheers them on.

 


	2. Over Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly: HOLY FUCK GUYS?????? The response from the fandom has been…… SO GOOD???? We are FLOORED. SO, I worked real hard to get this chapter done quickly (i seriously fucked up my sleep schedule lmao) bc y’all have been so awesome. Ily all and thank you!
> 
> The first routine in this chapter is based off of this irl routine: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yqM6-Fh-o-0&feature=youtu.be check it out because it’s beautiful. (And yes: i know that that routine is an ice dancing routine and not a pairs figure skating routine. I chose it because it’s pRETTY OKAY I JUST LOVE IT A LOT. IT SCREAMED SHALLURA AND I HAD TO).  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NfQ8UtWqAsU this is the song Lance skates to. Enjoy.  
> Without further ado, here is yet another monstrous chapter (a whopping 17k words lmao) for your reading pleasure!  
> Edit: i 100% made up the names of the competitions for the figure skating crew and Keith’s is based off of the competitions in my province (i love me some hockey). Idk man

“Kogane! What are you doing?!”

Keith looks up towards his coach’s voice, peeling his eyes away from the ice, just as he’s slammed _hard_ into the boards. The air is knocked out of him and he catches himself with a hand on the ice, stick flying from his hand. The whistle blows, halting the play, while his teammate stares down at him from behind his visor.

“Dude - what the hell?” He offers him a hand which Keith takes and allows himself to be pulled to his feet with a wheeze. He’s barely caught his breath when his coach slides into view.

“What was that?” The older woman stares him down, hands on her hips, as she waits for Keith to explain himself.

Which he _can,_ in theory, but he doesn’t really _want_ to. What was he supposed to say? _I was thinking about that crazy jump my brother and his skating partner pulled off at a competition three years ago_? Yeah, no thanks - he wants to actually live through this practice.

“I just -” Keith uses his jersey to mop at the sweat on his neck. “- I’m just not feeling great today. Sorry, Coach.”

She looks at him with narrowed eyes, seeing through the terrible excuse he gave her, and shoves his stick back into his hands.

“Whatever the reason is, you need to get your ass in gear, Kogane. Provincials are quickly approaching and I need you to _focus_.” She fixes him with one last glare and then tweets her whistle. “Alright! Regroup! Let’s move onto some defensive plays.”

As Keith pushes away from the boards, trying to force the intrusive thoughts out of his mind, he notices how far back his weight is on his skates and forces himself to lean forward. No pick to trip on with these skates.

* * *

Practice was grueling after his slip-up. Sure, provincials were sneaking up on them, but his coach goes overboard sometimes. Today was all about defense and agility, which meant nonstop drills for the full three hours they were there. Defense was not his forté - he was all about scoring and fighting if he was honest - so he struggled with that. However, the agility wasn’t too bad today, which was unusual for him if he was honest. In short, practice was grueling and Keith wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep. Being tired was normal, especially with the coach he has, but combine that with having been up at an ungodly hour yesterday and attending a (pathetically difficult) figure skating lesson, he was completely exhausted.

He barely suppresses a yawn when his coach strolls up beside him, stepping over his recently discarded skates, and plops down on the bench he’s claimed. Blunt as she is, she wastes no time beating around the bush and gets straight to what she wants to know.

“So, how did that skating class go yesterday?”

Keith blows air through his nose and purses his lips in annoyance. He knew that his coach had been the one to suggest it in the first place and was just following up on it but he still feels self conscious about his struggles yesterday.

“It was fine, I guess.” He shrugs and he starts to unstrap his shin pads.

“Hm,” she nods silently to herself. “Do you feel like it helped you at all?”

“Not really.” He snorts and chucks one pad into his bag before moving onto the next one. “If anything it just messed up my balance and hockey stance. I have to keep readjusting in these skates - it’s annoying.”

“Really? Because you looked great on the ice today.” She adds. “Well, when you were actually paying attention, at least.”

Keith stares at her incredulously. He felt so different today - like he was relearning how to skate for the second time this week - so he finds it hard to believe that being tormented by Lance for an hour and a half helped his hockey playing in any way. Even if he can’t get it off his mind long enough to score a goal.

“I’m serious,” his coach continues. “When was the last time you completed an agility drill without any fumbles? It’s obvious that your footwork has already improved after only one lesson. I knew it would help you.” She pats his shoulder once, a heavy thump that makes him wince slightly. “Good work, Kogane. Can’t wait to see what the full six week program does for you.”

“I thought -” Keith hesitates. “I thought I didn’t have to keep going if I didn’t want to? Shiro said I didn’t have to commit to anything more than one lesson.”

A small, nagging voice pokes at the back of Keith’s mind as he watches his coach frown at him:

_Who says you don’t want to?_

“Whatever Shiro said doesn’t matter because, right now, I’m saying this: you’re finishing the program.” She stands up with a small groan. “If I’m seeing this much improvement after one lesson then there’s no damn way I’m letting you quit this early. We need you in top shape for provincials - remember that.”

“Coach -”

“No - I’m done talking about this.” She starts off back towards the ice, waving over her shoulder. “Good luck, Kogane.”

* * *

Keith makes the wise decision to shower in the change room, seeing as he hasn’t done laundry in a few weeks and doesn’t trust the mound of slightly damp towels lying in the corner of his bathroom. Most of the team has already left by the time he emerges from the stall, towel wrapped around his waist, so he takes extra care to avoid the strangers that now fill the change room. Keith thinks back to the privacy of Allura’s rink and wishes for a second that he was back there, away from all the noise and chaos that fills this space.

With a sigh, he rummages through his gym bag for his civvies, pushing aside the endless mountain of hockey equipment (which probably needs to be cleaned but who has time for that?) to the side. He picks up his helmet and spots the black of his t-shirt sticking out from the corner of the bag. He gives it a few tugs, bringing up a pair of white leather skates with it.

_Uhh?_

He picks them up by the laces and holds them in front of him with a frown. He must have subconsciously thrown them in his bag when he left yesterday instead of returning them to Allura. Was he even supposed to return them? Is it a one time thing? Or are they his for the time being? He drops them off to the side as he pulls his shirt over his head and the realization that, lesson or not, he technically has to return to the rink now. _I mean,_ he thinks. _I_ could _just get Shiro to pick them up instead?_ He finishes getting dressed, chucking his still wet towel into his bag, followed by the skates. They looked so out of place amongst his stained and filthy gear - Keith is almost tempted to carry them separately but decides against it. He pulls the shoulder strap over his chest, shoves his hands in his pockets, and starts the long trip home.  

* * *

The upside to having a coach who viciously hates mornings almost as much as Keith does is that his practices are all scheduled in the afternoons or evenings. The downside is that Keith usually gets home absurdly late thanks to the commute. Often times he passes out on the subway, missing his stop and has to retrace his steps. Of course, he did this a few times back when Shiro was his coach and practices were horrendously early so he’ll take sleeping in over that bullshit any day.

The sun had set by the time he finally arrives home and the streets have died down; only a few cars pass through his street during the night and even less people. It’s a small and shitty apartment, but, hey, rent is cheap and who needs a big apartment when only one person lives there? It does its job and that’s all he really cares about. He punches in his code and strolls through the main hallway down to his door, jamming his key in the lock and practically shoving the door open. The hinges have been in dire need of fixing for a while now but, no matter how many emails or phonecalls he sends his landlord, it just never gets done. That seems to be a trend in his place: creaking cupboards that don’t quite close all the way, loose floorboards that come so far off the ground that he can stash things under them, faucets that leak unless the handles are at the _perfect_ angle. It’s pretty dysfunctional but he doesn’t care much. At this point he’s pretty used to it, to be honest.

He doesn’t even stop to take of his shoes before flopping down on the couch, bag slipping from his shoulder down into his hand. He lets out the world’s longest sigh as he tries to lazily kick off his shoes. He succeeds in flinging one across his pathetic excuse for a living room, but the second one snags a sock in the process and lands on his coffee table, knocking down a few stray, empty mugs he never got around to cleaning. He’s too tired to even pick them up - that’s a job for Morning Keith. Well, it’ll be more like Afternoon Keith. He’s not getting up until the sun is high in the sky tomorrow and no one can stop him.

He goes to throw his bag in the general direction of his shoes but catches a glance of the white leather poking out from behind his zipper.

 _Ah, yes_ . He thinks. _The skates._

He tried all day to push yesterday’s lesson out of his mind but it kept sneaking up on him. During his train ride to the rink, during warm ups, practice - it tags along with every other thought he has and damn is it frustrating. It’s not like he’s even thinking about Lance’s bullshit or how embarrassed he was the whole time - that would be easy to get over. His brain chooses to ignore all those parts of the lesson and, instead, reminds him of the same damn things over and over again. Like the long, elegant movements of Lance while he circled around Keith. Allura’s guiding hand that held onto him in reassurance. Tia’s brilliant smile as she twirls on the spot, pink skirt billowing out around her.

The bubble of self pride that built in his chest when he successfully completed a move.

Keith was not an insecure person; he’s good at a variety of different skills and doesn't really have to try. It sounds conceited to say, but he just picks up on things quickly. It drove Shiro up the wall when they were kids, especially when he was working his ass off to get to where he was. This meant, however, that Keith never had to work all that hard at anything. Frustrating for others looking in, but, for Keith, it was boring. Never being challenged meant you never really give that much of a shit about anything. You don’t have to commit all that much to it so you don’t feel like you’re losing all that much if you give it up. It’s a miracle he’s stuck with hockey this long. He picked it up just as quickly as anything else and flew up the ranks until he was a forward on a Junior Championship team.

In all honesty, Shiro was probably the biggest reason he stuck to it. It became _their thing_ . They went to practice together, came home together, played ball hockey in the driveway until their parents called them in for dinner. It doesn’t matter if he didn’t have to work that hard ‘cause Shiro was there and they got to play together. After Shiro got injured, he stepped away from playing for a while, taking up coaching instead. Shiro’s role in Keith’s hockey life became even more integral. He was his coach - why would he quit? However, when Shiro decided to leave their team to pursue figure skating - well, didn’t _that_ fuck everything up. Hockey was no longer “their thing”. It was just another responsibility that Keith slowly stopped caring that much about. But old habits die hard, after all, and he found it was hard to leave something that was so ingrained in him. He found his place on the team without Shiro there and excelled.

Damn figure skating, though. Keith follows through with one baby lesson and he’s suddenly got skating fever. He doesn’t want to admit it but he enjoyed it more than he initially realized. _For once_ something was a challenge. For once he couldn’t just coast through every practice, barely caring because he had already perfected what others had just started learning. It was… exciting? Keith isn’t sure what the right word was to describe how he felt about this whole mess. He doubts a word had yet been invented to accurately describe it. But it was there and he was intrigued.

He wanted to see more of it.

He stares at the white skates with lips pursed. Does he hold onto them until he sees Shiro next or does he bring them in on his own? When would be the next time he sees Shiro? He doesn’t even know if he’s going to the next tadpole lesson (Keith mentally cringes even _thinking_ the words).

Something pokes at the back of his mind, then - a blurry memory of Shiro saying he and Allura use the rink before anyone else gets there in the morning. That was years ago… was that still true? He hadn’t seen any current videos of their routines so maybe they weren’t even performing anymore. But if Keith knows his brother, that wouldn’t stop him from learning new routines.

Maybe…

Keith hangs his arm off the couch, twisting the laces between his fingers as he thinks.

Maybe he could just swing by the rink tomorrow morning. If Shiro and Allura were there, then he could just _say_ he was there to return the skates. That could work.

Of course, that meant getting up early to meet them there - something that filled Keith’s gut with disgust - but when else would he be able to visit without running into the pompous king himself? It was his only choice really. Goodbye precious sleeping time, it was nice knowing you.

Resolving himself to follow through with this plan, he sets a total of seven alarms for the morning. He doesn’t think too much about the numbers he punches in or else he might back out. He tosses his phone far enough away from himself that he can’t just turn off the alarm in a sleepy daze and sits up to pull off his shirt, not even bothering to change into pajamas. He sighs along with his couch’s springs as he readjusts into a semi-comfortable position. He _could_ open the futon to a bed like he’s supposed to, but that would be wasting precious moments of his already shortened sleep schedule.

_Stay strong, Keith._

As he drifted off to sleep, his feet hanging over the edges to rest on a nearby milkcrate, one thought pushes through the rest.

 

Why was he trying so hard to find a reason to go back?

* * *

Unsurprisingly, it took all seven alarms to get him up. Even as the seventh screamed at him (he chose the most obnoxious alarm tone he could find) he contemplated ignoring it and sleeping the day away, but the blaringly pristine white of the borrowed skates stared him down until he hauled his ass out from under the covers. Blearily, he grabs a decently smelling shirt, a fruit leather from his cupboards, and all but tumbles out the front door - barely remembering to lock it behind him.

He’s surprised he gets on the right train in his current state, but somehow manages. He may have fallen asleep a few times on the way there, thankfully being shaken awake by the sudden lurching of the train on the tracks, stopping him from slipping too far into unconsciousness. The walk from the station to the arena is equally as painful, each step reminding him how much he hates mornings, but he stops by a local coffee shop along the busier street in hopes that it will make him feel slightly more human. The sign outside tells him that the tiny store - promoting “organic, fair trade” roasts - is called _La Vida Mocha_.

The stupid pun is almost enough to make Keith turn around right then and there. _Almost_. But, the promise of caffeine is only marginally more powerful. Against his better judgement, he pushes open the front door, greeted by the strong smell of coffee. He perks up slightly as he wades over the counter where a short man with floppy, blonde hair and round Elton John glasses greets him at the counter.

“Hi there!’ His smile sparkles. _Jesus, this guy was way too perky for this time of day_. “What can I get you?”

Keith gives the menu a quick glance but doesn’t quite have the mental fortitude right now to understand half the words up there. He settles on a classic.

“Just a double shot of espresso, thanks.” He pulls out his card from his back pocket and goes to pay when the chirpy barista interrupts him.

“Is that ristretto or lungo?”

“Uh -” Keith blinks at him. Why was this stranger speaking another language at him? “Just give me whichever is stronger.” Please, dear God, he just wants some coffee.

The man nods and punches a few commands into the computer. “Ristretto it is.”

Keith pays, mumbles a semi-coherent goodbye, and moves to the end of the counter. He watches as the barista gets to work, noticing the text on the back of his shirt. Keith squints at it and just barely makes out the words.

_We’ve bean livin’ la vida mocha!_

Keith has to physically hold himself back from slamming his face into the nearest wall. He feels such strong second hand embarrassment that it makes him feel legitimately uncomfortable in the presence of such a horrible slogan.

_The coffee, Keith. Be strong for the coffee._

His shot does not come fast enough and he downs it within seconds.

“Have a great day, alright?” The barista smiles at him as he cleans up any mess he just made.

Keith tries to shove as much sympathy as he can into his nod. He can’t believe anyone has to work in such conditions. Aren’t there laws against this kind of thing?

The door swings shut behind him, trapping the alluring scent of coffee behind the glass, and Keith continues his walk towards the rink. The espresso kicks in shortly after, clearing his mind of the foggy cloud that hung over it and re-coordinating his legs slightly. He felt a little more like his usual self as the arena slowly comes into view.

No one is at the arena entrance when Keith arrives, skates hanging in his hand at his side, and he is momentarily thrown off. At his rink, even if it’s just before closing, _someone_ is there - at least at the main desk. Briefly, he’s at a loss on what to do. Were Allura or Shiro even here?

He takes a few, hesitant steps towards the doors to the rink, glancing around for evidence of life. Nope. Still no one. He vaguely remembers where Allura had found the skates and is about to head over there when he hears soft instrumental music drifting out from behind the doors. That grabs his attention. He presses his hand to the pushbar and - as quietly as possible - pushes the door open.

Inside, the stands are entirely empty and still unlit. The ice in the centre has several large spotlights shining over it while two figures glide across the ice in long, fluid movements. He lets the door close, holding onto it to try to minimize the sound, and very slowly moves towards the edge of the rink. As he gets closer, he recognizes Allura - her hair wrapped up into a high bun atop her head - and his brother, hands linked as they dance around one end of the ice. Their arms arc over them in unison as their feet move smoothly and effortless across the freshly polished ice. Allura turns to face Shiro as they head back towards the middle of the ice, kicking her leg forward for him to take in his hand. As the music swells, Shiro places her blade to his thigh and, while she pushes off with her back leg, lifts her weight onto her front leg. Literally _standing_ on Shiro’s thigh, Allura leans back and extends her arms over her head, a gentle smile gracing her lips. After several seconds, during which Keith is absolutely sure she’ll fall, Shiro slowly lowers her back down to the ice, where she glides off away from him. He follows her, placing a hand on her waist and pulling them both into a slow spin.

Finally they wind to a stop - and not the abrupt dramatic stops like Lance, but smooth spinning around and around, never breaking eye contact. They don’t move for the longest time after they stop, just stand there staring at each other. Keith is almost too afraid to breathe in fear that he’ll break whatever is brewing in the inches of space between them. Then, all of a sudden, Allura flings herself at Shiro. Her arms wind around his neck as she bounces excitedly, forcing him to jump with her. Shiro wastes no time reciprocating her enthusiastic hug, even lifting her off her feet with a swing. They break free of each other after a few seconds, both laughing, and Keith contemplates calling out to them. The laughter fades and Keith is just about to say something when he notices how they’re looking at each other - how close they are. He recognizes this and hope that, maybe with no one else around, one of them will make the first move.

 _C’mon Shiro. Just fucking do it._ ** _Come on._**  
And for a second, it looks like he might actually do it - break past the last few inches and kiss her - but then he’s backing away, rubbing at his neck and babbling on about something with a wave of his hand. Keith rolls his eyes at his brother’s stupidity and takes a few steps closer to the ice, not yet calling out to them. Shiro’s back is turned to Allura so he doesn’t see it, but Keith definitely notices the slump in her shoulders and the smallest of sighs she lets escape.

His brother is the biggest moron there is.

Just as Keith reaches the rink’s edge, Allura spots him.

“Keith?” She pushes off towards him, brow furrowed. Keith raises his hand in greeting, catching Shiro’s eye when he spins around in confusion. Through glare alone, Keith tries to communicate how idiotic his brother is - letting him know that he saw all of that and he, as promised, will have his ass for it. It doesn’t seem to land as Shiro, with a small surprised smile, follows Allura over to him.

“I didn’t expect to see you here until next week’s lesson - if at all.” Shiro raises an eyebrow at him, expectantly.

“Yeah, well -” Keith fumbles for words. The excuse he had concocted suddenly feels empty and dry but he goes with it anyways, holding the skates up in front of him. “I forgot to give these back during the lesson so, uh, I figured…. Yeah.”

Allura and Shiro share a knowing look but don’t comment on Keith’s poor excuse out loud. Allura holds a hand up to him, shaking her head.

“Those are yours until you no longer need them. There’s no need to return them now.”

Shiro stares down at his brother, arms crossed over his chest. “Unless… do you not want to keep them?”

Keith doesn’t have an answer for that. Does he? Was he going to follow through with these lessons? In theory, he could just _say_ he does and not tell his coach but…. He can’t seem to get the image of the graceful movements of the two skaters in front of him out of his mind.

“I, uhm, I’m not sure yet.” Keith lowers the skates back down and fiddles with the laces in his hands. “I haven’t decided.”

Keith expects the usual brotherly nagging that Shiro directs at him, poking at Keith’s uncertainty, but it doesn’t arrive. Instead, Shiro places a hand on the boards and looks his brother straight in the eye.

“No one is forcing you to decide right now, Keith.” Allura nods beside him, eyes kind. “Don’t feel pressured to commit to any more than you want to. You can stop at any point and no one will blame you for it. It’s tough - no one knows that more than me - but I wasn’t lying when I said I think it would do you good.”

Keith, not quite knowing what to say, just shrugs. Shiro continues.

“Your coach called me yesterday.” Pride appears on his brother’s features, then. “She told me how you performed in yesterday’s practice and we both think it’s related to the lessons. It’s obviously too early to say anything for sure but, if your hockey playing continues to improve, supplementary lessons with me or Allura might be a good thing to add to your regime.”

Allura puts a hand on Shiro’s shoulder, gently cutting him off.

“My only concern,” she starts. “Is your health. I understand that hockey is important to you and that you want to do well at the upcoming championship, however I do not want you pushing yourself more than necessary. Too much practice can hurt you more than it could help. I just want you to be careful.”

“I guess what we’re _trying_ to say,” Shiro adds. “Is that we want _you_ to be the one to make this decision. You have to want this. You know yourself and your body best - this is all up to you. No matter how much any of us want you to continue, we won’t force you if you don’t agree.”

They both stare down at Keith, gazes gentle and caring, and he suddenly feels very, very young. Something tells him that they have had this conversation before with someone else or, based off their earnestness, _wish_ that they had. Keith knows his brother and if he manages to get through an entire lecture without slipping in a dig at Keith’s expense, then he really means it.

“Uhh,” Keith blinks between the two of them. “Okay?”

He is conflicted, to say the least. If these lessons really did help his playing then it made sense to continue then. His coach was right when she said he needed to be focusing on being the best he can be during provincials - maybe these lessons would help him do that… That was obviously why we was so tempted to continue…

Right?

“Listen, Keith.” Shiro leans over the board and places a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You don’t have to do anything right now, okay? You have a whole week before the next lesson. We’ll have our answer then, one way or another. Don’t stress over this.”

 _Easier said than done,_ Keith thinks.

He still feels like he should answer them - especially after their long winded speech - but he isn’t sure what that answer should be. He offers them the only thing he can right now, swinging his skates over his shoulder with a shrug.

“Well, I”ll just - hold onto these for now, I guess?”

He is rewarded with an almost painfully maternal smile from Allura, kind and caring. His brother’s mouth quirks up to one side, betraying the happy pride he feels. Both of them just continue to stare at Keith while he squirms under their eyes. He was not used to such unabashed affection being directed towards him, so he takes a few steps away from the ice.

“A-anyways,” He mumbles. “I’ll head home now. I, uh, have some stuff to do.”

“Of course,” Allura props her hands on her hips and looks over to Shiro. “We have things to do before the lessons start, Shiro. We lost some of our prep time to that routine.”

As if remembering their private skating session, Shiro’s face grows red and Keith takes the opportunity to jump aboard the Embarrass Shiro Train.

 _Choo choo_.

“Oh yeah, I just caught the end of it.” He coyly smiles at his brother, who is currently trying (and failing) to keep his composure. “Is that for an upcoming competition?”

“No no, Shiro and I don’t compete much anymore. We’re too busy here at the rink. That was the first routine we ever competed with. It was very nostalgic performing it after all these years.” She places a delicate hand to Shiro’s arm, smiling brightly up at him. “Right, Shiro?”

Shiro sputters then, coughing into his hand. “Uh, ah, y-yeah. It was - nice.”

“Hmmm,” Keith hums. “It looked very…..” He waves his hand in front of him, as if searching for the right word. “Romantic.”

Shiro shoots Keith the most pathetic warning glance he’s ever seen but doesn’t say anything.

_Choo choo, indeed._

“Oh yes!” Allura claps her hands together. “My father choreographed the routine! He often loved the more emotional routines - he said they reminded him of when he used to skate with my mother.”

“Your father?” Keith briefly takes his attention off of his flustered brother and looks over at Allura. “Does your father still skate?”

Like a flip of a switch, Allura’s bright smile vanishes and is replaced with a look that dances between several emotions.

“Not anymore, no.” She sighs. “My father -- he passed away many years ago, shortly after Shiro and I became partners. My mother died when I was young so my father built this rink in her honour.” She gestures around her, looking up at the bright lights hanging above them. “When he died, he left it under my name, should I choose to take it.”

Shiro, at least somewhat recovered, looks at her sympathetically, taking an imperceptibly small step towards her.

“Oh, wow -” Keith tries to imitate her gentle smile but it still doesn’t feel like enough. “I’m sorry, Allura.”

She blinks over at him before smiling kindly - the bittersweetness that litters her expression does not suit her at all. “Thank you, Keith, but it is alright. It’s been many years and, while I still miss my father, his legacy and memory live on with this arena.” She looks over at Shiro who smiles _sickeningly_ lovingly at her. She continues. “Every time one of the students finishes a routine or learns a new jump, I can feel him with us, cheering and congratulating them like he used to to us.”

Keith suddenly feels very much like an intruder, looking in on this private moment, but Allura does not let it linger.

“Well,” she lets out a sigh, squares her shoulders, and brushes away the emotions that threaten to spill over like they were nothing. “There is still much to be done. It was nice seeing you again, Keith. Do not hesitate to visit us again, alright?”

She doesn’t give Keith much time to respond before she pushes off further onto the ice. He watches as she stops by an opening in the boards on the far side of the rink, swings open the door, and takes a seat in the rafters where she bends over to remove her skates. Shiro lets out a sigh as he watches her go, concern etched into the lines of his face.

“I didn’t know that stuff about her dad,” Keith says, catching his brother’s attention. “You never mentioned it.”

“It’s not the kind of thing you just bring up in casual conversation, Keith.” Shiro steps off the ice and joins Keith on the other side of the boards. He drops himself down on the rafters and follows Allura’s lead. “Besides, me and you weren’t talking much when that happened.”

“Oh,” Keith drops his gaze, suddenly uncomfortable. “Sorry that - that must have been difficult.”

“Yeah,” Shiro shrugs. “It was tough for a while. Alfor had been our coach at that time so it was really hard going from seeing him every day to not seeing him at all. His death was sudden and none of us saw it coming which really only made it worse.” He pulls one skate off and moves onto the next. “At the time, I had suggested that Allura take some time off - that she leave Coran in charge of the rink while she recovered. But she’s stubborn - she insisted that we stick to our usual routine and that she take immediate possession of the arena.”

Keith shakes his head with a small laugh. “Somehow that doesn’t shock me.”

“It didn’t shock me either, honestly.” Shiro smiles up at his brother as he pulls off his second skate. “She’s been through a lot over the years but she's never let it break her. I don’t know how she does it, really.”

“She’s -” Keith pauses thoughtfully. “She’s pretty incredible.”

“Yeah,” Shiro pushes himself to his feet with a soft smile. “She is.”

Shiro starts towards the rink entrance and Keith takes this as his cue to follow, falling into step beside him. Just as Shiro grabs the handle and gestures for Keith to go first, Keith fixes him with a glare, suddenly remembering something.

“I saw that, you know.”

“What?” Shiro looks at him in confusion.

“At the end of the routine. I saw that.” Keith folds his arms across his chest. “You were gonna kiss her.”

Shiro rolls his eyes, trying to feign annoyance, but Keith sees the dusting of pink on his nose. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do.”

“I really don’t.”

Keith frowns. “You’re an idiot, Shiro.”

Shiro groans and pushes past Keith, through the door he’s still holding open. “We’re not doing this.”

“Why don’t you just go for it?” Keith jogs after him, trying to move in front of his path. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

“I can’t hear you!” Shiro breezes past him, barely offering him a second glance, and heads towards a door off to the side.

“Shiro, come on! _”_ Keith stops in his tracks and watches as his brother swings the door open to reveal an office of sorts.

“ _Goodbye, Keith._ ” With that, the door closes. Keith scowls at it, hoping Shiro can feel it from the other side.

The main hall is still pretty quiet but, unlike when Keith first arrived, it isn’t entirely empty. Standing on the far side of the room is a familiar individual, round glasses perched on their nose, talking excitedly to the moustached man from the last time he was here.

“Coran _please_ ,” Pidge practically whines. “You can’t deny that it would make the routine more impressive!”

“Alright, number five - I will admit to that. But I still cannot allow you to go through with this.” Coran folds his arms across his chest and turns his face away from Pidge. “It simply cannot happen.”

Pidge groans, throwing their head back in frustration. They quickly glance across the room and spot Keith staring over at them. They practically pounce on him with determination in their eyes.

“Keith!” They grab Coran by the arm and physically drag him over to Keith. “You - I have a question for you.”

Keith looks between the two of them, Coran looking like he'd been pestered all morning long by the younger person and is seconds from caving to their demands.

“Okay?” Keith shifts the skates so they hang over his shoulder, preparing himself.

“ _So_ ,” Pidge starts. “Hunk and I have this competition coming up, right? Our routine is great - impressive, technical, entertaining - but I just feel like something is missing, like it needs something.” They have relinquished their grip on Coran’s arm and begin gesturing wildly in front of them. “So we asked ourselves: what could we add to it give it that extra oomph? And then it hit us!”

Coran interrupts then, an amused smile dancing on his lips despite himself. “Just wait.” Keith spares him a confused and weary glance before Pidge is continuing.

“ _Pyrotechnics!”_ Pidge’s eyes gleam with some combination of excitement and mischievousness. “Fire! Ice! Fire _on_ ice! It’s the perfect combination to make it the most thrilling routine of the competition!” They look at Keith expectantly. “So, what do _you_ think? I thought Coran would be all for it -”

“I do have a flair for the dramatic…” Coran hums to himself.

“- but even _he’s_ against me on this one! Come on, Keith. You think it would help the routine, right?”

Keith stares down at the short individual’s fiery eyes. _I mean… it_ would _be cool?_ Keith thinks. But even he can see the danger and impulsivity in it (and that’s saying something). However, before he can get a chance to disway or encourage them, someone else jumps into the conversation.

“It would also help the city’s doctors pay off their mortgages.” Matt clamps a hand down on his sibling’s shoulder, fixing them with a glare. “You are not incorporating pyrotechnics into your routine, Pidge.”

Pidge’s shoulders immediately slump, like they’re a child who was caught stealing cookies from the top shelf, and they sigh defeatedly. Matt smirks at them, continuing with the lecture.

“You thought you could persuade Coran into letting you do this before I found out? Pidge you may know most of what goes on in this rink but _I_ -” He juts his thumb towards his chest. “- have access to the full camera feed. You can’t hide from me, bud.”

Keith watches the two of them stare the other down, Pidge’s enthusiasm significantly dampened, and notes the stark contrast between the Matt he met last time and the Matt he sees now. He is no longer the nervous, jumpy man who looked so incredibly out of place on the ice. He looks far more confident now; more knowledgeable and in charge. He also looks like he’s seen some serious shit, but having Pidge as a sibling would probably do that, honestly.

At this point in the conversation, Pidge has resorted to clinging onto their brother’s arm, and flat out begging. Matt does not seem swayed whatsoever and, in fact, pries Pidge from his arm and lifts it out of their reach.

“I don’t care, Pidge! This is a bad idea and you know it!” Matt persists.

It seems that Pidge has accepted their defeat, having stopped jumping for Matt’s raised arms.

“You’re boring.” They say with a pout.

“I’d rather be boring than on fire.” Matt just reaches down to pat them on the head then fixes his attention on Coran. “And you - you almost gave in to them! You have to be more stern with them! You don’t want a repeat of last year’s competition do you?”

Coran rubs at his chin thoughtfully. “I see your point.”

Pidge’s previously dejected expression sparks once more with that same mischievous glint at the mention of that and Keith’s curiosity gets the better of him.

“What happened last year?”

Pidge’s eyes lock on his in excitement as they go to speak. However, before they can begin, Matt clamps a hand over their mouth with sigh.

“Trust me,” he shakes his head. “You don’t want to know.”

Coran nods in agreement, his expression grave. “I still have nightmares about it.”

Pidge frowns from behind Matt’s hand and mumbles something unintelligible before crossing their arms. Matt ignores them.

“So Keith,” he cocks his head to the side. “Why are you here today? Your next lesson isn’t until Wednesday, right?”

“Oh, uhhh-” Keith looks over his shoulder at the skates hanging there and scrambles for a better reason than ‘I needed an excuse to come watch my brother and Allura skate’. He clears his throat nervously. “I came to return these but, uh, I couldn’t find Allura so I guess I’ll just… hold onto them?”

Matt frowns. “Really? ‘Cause she and Shiro were on the rink just a few minutes ago?”  
“Yeah, I - I just missed her. And Shiro wouldn’t take the skates back, so I’ll have to find her later.” Keith feels Pidge squinting at him, obviously not falling for his terrible lie, so he avoids looking at them directly.

“Oh, well,” Matt pulls his hand from Pidge’s mouth and wipes it on his jeans with a shrug. “It’s too bad that you won’t be continuing with lessons. You looked like you were getting the hang of things at the end, there.”

Keith frowns at him. “How do you know? You weren’t even at the rink, then.”

“I can see the whole rink from the tech room,” he jabs a finger behind him. “I usually hang out there for the day - I’m not much of a skating person, myself.”

“Tech room?”

Pidge, now slightly chirpier, cuts in. “Do you want to see it?”

“ _Pidge_.” Matt warns.

They just wave their hand at him, actively ignoring his words. “It’s just down this way - I can show you around.”

Not even waiting for a response, they turn on their heel and start down the hallway. Keith looks between their back and Matt and Coran, confused. Matt sighs.

“You can go look if you want, just -” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Don’t let them get into too much, okay? Coran and I have things to do so we can’t come supervise. You are on Pidge Duty now.”

Keith nods but he knows he couldn’t stop Pidge even if he tried.

“Well, it was nice seeing you again, Keith!” Matt smiles at him and offers a small wave. “Hopefully you’ll still stop by even though you aren’t continuing lessons. Shiro was in a good mood all day yesterday - it was nice to see.” His smile grows just _slightly_ warmer at the mention of his brother. Keith frowns. _Does he -_?

The thought is interrupted by Coran slapping a hand to his forehead.

“Of course!” He chuckles to himself. “You’re Shiro’s brother! I was trying to figure out where I knew the name ‘Keith’ from and then I remembered all the baby photos Shiro has shown me. You were _quite_ the troublemaker from what I’ve heard.”

“I’m sure it sounds that way when Shiro tells the stories.” Keith rolls his eyes.

Cora laughs and reaches up to play with the edges of his moustache. “Well, Keith, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Coran, as you know. I’m Allura’s family friend and manager here at the Altea Arena.” Coran extends a hand out to him which Keith takes and lets his arm be pumped forcefully.

“Yeah,” Keith nods. “Nice to meet you too.”

“Anyways,” Matt interrupts. “We have work to do and you might want to catch up with Pidge before they disappear completely.” He gestures off behind Keith where Pidge has just slipped through a nearby door.

“Right - “ Keith turns to leave, raising a hand. “See you later, then.”

Keith makes his way after Pidge who, thankfully, left the door ajar after they entered the room. Keith steps inside and finds himself in a large stairwell. He faintly hears footsteps several flights above him and, not really having anywhere else to go, he starts up after them.

It doesn’t take too long, but Keith is still somewhat winded by the time he reaches the top and ducks out of the stairwell into a narrow, curved hallway. There are a few doors further down the hallway on either side and Keith has no clue which way to go until a brown tuft of hair appears from behind one to his right.

“Keith! Over here!” Pidge pushes the door further open before disappearing behind it again.

Keith pads over and sticks his head into the room. While it isn’t a very large room, it feels even smaller with two people in it. Pidge has thrown their thick sports jacket over the back of a rolling chair where they are propped up, messing with some of the dials on the panel in front of them. Crossing over the threshold of the door, Keith notices a hastily scrawled note taped to it that reads: _LANCE STAY OUT_ . _\- Matt_.

 _Of course it’s for Lance,_ Keith thinks. _What a shocker._

Pidge spins in their chair to face him, smirk on their lips.

“Come look at this,” they nod their head towards the large window above the control panel. Keith joins them, placing a hand on the back of their chair, and leans forward to peer through the glass.

Matt was right when he said he can see the whole rink from up here. The ice is freshly polished, shining under the bright fluorescents, as a zamboni disappears into a large door on the side of the rink. Leaning against the boards outside of the rink is Shiro and Allura, deep in conversation. Although it’s less of a conversation and more like ‘Allura talks eagerly about something and Shiro stares in admiration’. Keith rolls his eyes and groans.

“I know, right?” Pidge scoffs. “No offense, Keith, but your brother is a chickenshit.”

“Oh, trust me, I am with you on that.”

“Well then,” they smile devilishly up at Keith as they reach towards the control panel. “I think they could use some help _setting the mood_ , don’t you think?” And, with the flick of a few buttons, the lights hanging over the rink fade into a soft, pink hue. Keith watches Shiro’s head snap up towards the ceiling but he barely manages to react before loud, sensual saxophone music is blaring through the entire space.

Keith is laughing so hard he has to physically hold himself up so he won’t collapse on the ground. Down by the rink, Shiro is sputtering and flailing, as he simultaneously tries to convince Allura that he isn’t about to spontaneously combust and also look for the source of his torment. It finally clicks and he whips towards the window to the tech room. They can’t hear him over the roaring harmonies filling the rink but they can most definitely read Pidge’s names on his lips as he screams up at them.

Pidge, snorting in amusement, leans towards a mic and presses the button at the base.

“Sorry, Shiro,” their voice is overlaid over the music. “I can’t quite hear you right now! There’s music playing!”

Shiro waves his arms wildly before slicing his hand in front of his throat in a ‘shut it down’ motion. Even with the pink lights hanging over him, the brilliant red of his face is still clearly noticeable.

Honestly, you could probably see that mess from outer space.

Pidge lets the music play a little longer, allowing the saxophonist to reach the climax of their piece, before cutting the music and leaning towards the mic again.

“Sorry guys - I don’t know what happened there.” Pidge smirks down at them, shrugging playfully. Shiro looks on the verge of committing straight up homicide at this point so they concede, flipping on the regular lighting while Keith tries to smother his laughter. Down on the ice, Allura is snickering behind her hand as she watches Shiro with an affectionate smile. His brother really is oblivious.

Pidge elbows Keith in the ribs, pulling his attention back to him. “Pretty cool, eh? I installed the coloured lights a few years ago, shortly after I started skating more seriously. Shiro says it’s unnecessary, but I think it was a _great_ decision on my part.

“It’s definitely something.” Keith props his hands on his hips. “Good to know someone around here is harassing my brother when I’m not around.”

Pidge mock bows in their seat. “It is my honour.”

Keith smiles widely at them before shifting his attention back around the room. “This place is pretty cool, I guess. I’ve never been huge on tech stuff, but I can see the appeal.”

“Yeah,” Pidge starts spinning slowly in their chair, arms linked behind their head. “I’m not up here much ‘cause I’ve got practice to focus on, so it’s mainly up to Matt to hold down the fort.”

Keith nods, noticing a series of photos pinned to the left of the control panel. He squints at the faces smiling out at him and recognizes his brother in one of them, arm wound around the shoulders of a younger looking Matt.

“Those are all Matt’s.” Pidge informs him. “He says they make the room seem more ‘personalized’.”

Keith doesn’t say anything at first, instead inching closer to the wall of photos. The scar on his brother’s nose is slightly more pronounced in this photo, which means it was probably taken shortly after he left hockey, and his smile is so warm and easy. It makes Keith wonder what the photographer said to make him look like this. Matt is mid-laugh, gazing up at Shiro with a hand holding onto the arm draped over his shoulder. The look in Matt’s eyes is the same as what Keith saw earlier in the main hall. He bites his lip, mulling over his words carefully.

“Hey, Pidge?” He looks over his shoulder at them.

“Hm?” They have their eyes closed as they continue to spin.

“Is-” Keith clears his throat. “Is Matt - y’know -”

“Hopelessly in love with Shiro?” They stop their spinning, planting their feet on the ground and dropping their hands in their lap. “Yup.”

“Ah.” Keith says dumbly.

“It’s almost gross how desperately into him my brother is.” Pidge sighs. “But, like yours, he’ll never say anything to him. I tried to tell him years ago to just talk to Shiro about it but he didn’t listen. It’s a mess, honestly.”

Keith doesn’t know how to respond to that - not even sure why he asked in the first place - so he turns back to the photos. Pidge doesn’t continue the conversation, obviously feeling like that was all that needed to be said, and lets Keith inspect the photos some more. There are a few of Pidge and a tall, dark skinned man with shaggy hair. One of them features both of them covered in wires and grease, bashful smiles plastered on their faces as they lean on each other, laughing. There are a few of Shiro and Allura skating - he even recognizes a few of the costumes from the videos he watched the other night - and then one of them standing on either side of an older man with long, white hair and beard, warm smile a mirror image of Allura’s.

One photo, in particular, catches his attention. It’s a photo of Lance, smiling brightly at the camera as a he holds up a gold medal in pride. What peaked Keith’s interest, though, is that this photo has been torn straight down the middle. One of Lance’s arms is lost with the other half of the photo, but Keith catches a glimpse of pale, delicate fingers gripping onto the edge of Lance’s jacket. He frowns at it and turns to face Pidge.

“What’s this about?” Keith jabs a thumb towards the torn photograph.

Pidge, who wasn’t really paying attention to Keith, looks over to him now. Their eyes land on the photo in front of him, quickly losing their playful glint. They slouch lower in their seat and drop their gaze to the floor.

“Oh that,” they fiddling with the hem of their shirt as they talk. “That was when Lance won gold at nationals. That was the first year Shiro and Allura were coaching th- him.”

Keith narrows his eyes at them while they fidget. “Okay, but why is it torn?”

There’s a brief moment where Keith sees them start, searching for a viable explanation, before they continue with a wave of their hand. “Believe it or not, but Lance is really clumsy off the ice. He accidentally ripped it one day and we never got it replaced.”

“It looks deliberate, though?” Keith doesn’t believe them at all and plucks the photo off the wall to get a closer look. Yeah, there’s _definitely_ a hand on Lance’s waist. “Was there someone else with him?”

Pidge stand up, then, and snatches the photo from his hand. They fix him with a stern, although somewhat pained, look and pin the photo back onto the wall.

“Lance is a shithead - we all know that,” they say with their back turned to him. “But he’s still one of us and I won’t talk behind his back. Not about this.”

“I just - “ Keith starts but Pidge shakes their head, turning back to face him.

“Don’t.” They stare him down for a few seconds before continuing. “Look, all you need to know is that Lance has been through shit. You don’t need to know.”

They push past Keith and flop back into the chair with a sigh. He would be pushing for information - his curiosity burning for more - but the finality in their tone shuts him up. Keith scratches at the back of his neck as he moves to lean against the edge of the desk by Pidge.

“Um,” he feels like he’s crossed a line that very few people even dare to mention. “I’m - uh - I’m sorry if I, y’know, offended you or something. I didn’t know -”

They hold up a hand to stop him. “It’s fine, really. Don’t worry about it, Keith.”

They seem genuine enough, no traces of hostility or annoyance in their young face, so he decides to let it go. _It’s probably something to bring up with Shiro, later_. He thinks.

“Well,” he scoops up his discarded skates and takes a few steps towards the door. “I should get going, I guess. Thanks for showing me around.”

“Actually,” Pidge kicks their feet up onto their desk with a sigh. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” Keith stills, hand just now reaching for the doorknob.

They look over at him, a knowing smile just barely toying at the edges of their lips. “Our group lesson is early Wednesday morning,” they shrug nonchalantly. “If you wanted to come watch.”

Keith must look confused, standing there frozen by the door, because they continue.

“I couldn’t help notice that you seemed kind of unsure about quitting the tadpole lessons. It’s like you _wish_ you wanted to quit but -” their eyes narrow at him. “- don’t actually want to.”

Keith blinks owlishly at them, brain barely processing what’s happening, but then Shiro’s voice echoes at the back of his mind: _Pidge knows everything_.

Oh.

“I’m not trying to convince you to do one thing or another,” they pull a cellphone out of their back pocket and start tapping away at it. “I get not wanting to like it, though. See, my grandparents enrolled me in the same classes years back, hoping that I’d be more of the person they wanted me to be. But I wanted to hate it - I really did.” They laugh quietly to themselves, then, reminiscing. “I was such a pain at the beginning - I didn’t listen to Shiro _at all_. Gave him such a hard time and it really didn’t matter how nice or how patient he was. I was dead set on breaking out of that mould everyone had asked me to fit.” Keith watches as they drop their phone on the desk, pull their feet down and face Keith fully. “But even though I tried my best to hate it, this damn sport still got the best of me. And it taught me something: life is just one big practical joke. You just gotta go with it.”

They push up onto their feet, grabbing their jacket as they go, and step in front of Keith. Keith still stands there, dumbstruck, realizing he’s been figured out by someone else before he even figured _himself_ out.

“In short,” they continue. “If it’s for you, it’s for you. Don’t fight something if it’s what you want to do. If you keep getting pulled back in, there’s probably a reason for it.”

With one pat on his shoulder, they leave, abandoning him in the doorway. He hears the click of the stairwell door echo down the hall to him followed by silence.

_Well, shit._

* * *

As Keith closed the door to his apartment behind him, he hangs up the skates on his coat rack, beside his still-packed (and uncleaned) gym bag of equipment. He flicks on the kettle as he passes it on the way to his couch/bed. The espresso he got this morning was no where near enough for him and he could already feel the beginnings of a headache brewing in his temples. He flops down on the old, stained cushions and listens to the springs complain under his weight. He desperately wants to catch up on the sleep he has missed, but his mind just won’t shut up. He had been lectured by three different people about the same thing over the course of three hours and he really doesn’t know how to take it.

Pidge was right when they said he _wanted_ to hate it. He did. He really, really did. But, it must run in the family because, like his brother, he was getting sucked in pretty quickly.

Hockey was rough, brash, fast, and physical. Figure skating was, visually, infinitely more appealing. Keith was not a delicate person - he was the first on his team to pick fights with the other players, he had the most checks out of all the forwards, the top scorer. He didn’t go easy and that’s, partially, what made him such a good player. But no one can deny the appeal behind figure skating. Every part of the sport was smooth, fluid, and refined.

Keith obviously knew that it was by no means easy. But that’s part of what drew him in. The challenge, the difficulty. It was something he hadn’t faced in many, many years and he’s been unknowingly craving it for even longer.

Allura had brought up his health and, while it was important, Keith wasn’t all that concerned. He was already in top shape from hockey and he didn’t get hurt often - he’d really only done it once in all the years he’s been playing. He had been too rough during a fight with a player on their rival team and one broken nose, two broken fingers, and a long lecture from Shiro later, he had gained the reputation as being the fighter of the team. In short, he wasn’t worried about getting hurt - it came with the job description.

So, let’s break this down.

Worst case scenario: he suffers through six weeks, finds out he hates it, and goes back to playing hockey and only hockey. Best case scenario: he enjoys it, it helps his hockey skills, and he signs up for supplementary lessons so he can reap the full benefits.

The worst case scenario isn’t even _that_ bad.

Keith lays there, staring at the stipples of his ceiling while he contemplates the situation. He didn’t have much to lose - aside from his dignity should he really fail. But the challenge was almost too tempting to let pass by and there _was_ a part of him that enjoyed it.

The _twee_ of the kettle cuts through his thoughts, forcing him to his feet. He reaches for a mug and dumps a few spoonfuls of instant coffee into it while he exhales loudly. As he stirs in the boiling water, he blinks over at the skates hung by his door.

 

What was six weeks?

* * *

Pidge is just finishing up their warm up stretches when their cell rings loudly from the rafters.

“Pidge!” Shiro calls out from the ice. “Phone _off_! You know the rules!”

“Yeah, yeah,” they wave their hand over their shoulder as they trudge over to it, glancing down at the number on the screen.

“Hey!” Lance skids to a halt beside Shiro, hands already resting on his hips in expectation. “When I had my phone on during practice, I almost got kicked off the ice! Pidge’s actually goes off and all they get is a mild warning?”

Shiro rolls his eyes but it’s Pidge that responds.

“That’s because I’m actually cute and can get away with it.” They shoot him a shit-eating grin.

Lance, looking legitimately offended, places a hand over his heart. “You’ve said a lot of things over the years Pidge, but _that_ \-- was the meanest thing you ever said to me.”

Hunk glides over to him then, clapping a hand on his friend’s back.

“ _I_ think you’re cute, Lance.” He consoles.

“Hunk,” Lance looks up at him earnestly. “Have I ever told you you’re my favourite?”

“Not often enough, Lance. Not often enough.”

Shiro claps his hands loudly twice, then. “Alright now, let’s get back to practice. Pidge, shut that off and get moving.”

“Hold on a sec, Shiro.” They say, holding up a hand as they stare down at their still buzzing phone. “I don’t recognize this number but I’m expecting a package and this could be customs calling.” They press the answer button and raise the phone to their ear. “Hello?”

The line is silent for a few seconds before a hesitant voice rings through.

“Pidge?”

Pidge recognizes Keith’s voice immediately and smiles. _Called it._

“Keith, hey.” They plop down on the rafters, crossing their legs. “What’s up?”

“Oh, um,” Keith pauses and Pidge can hear him sigh. “I just - I guess.” He clears his throat. “You - uh - mentioned that you have practice Wednesday morning and I, uh…” He trails off, unsure, so Pidge finishes for him.

“Wanted to know what time it was at?”

Four beats of silence pass, then: “......yeah.”

They smirk to themselves. “6:30”

Keith very audibly groans. His unhappiness is followed by the sound of bedsprings groaning.

“Too early for you?” Pidge asks, eyebrows raised.

“ _Yes._ ”

Pidge snorts. “Well, you don’t have to come if it’s too early. Especially considering you have a lesson right af-”

“No.” Keith cuts them off abruptly. “No. I-I’ll be there.”

Pidge knew Keith wasn’t going to back out of the tadpole lessons. It was written all over his face when he was at the rink earlier today.

“Alright.” They tilt their head back and stare at the lights above them while they talk. “I guess I’ll see you then.”

“Uh, yeah.” Keith pauses. “Thanks, Pidge.”

“No worries,” they are just about to say goodbye when something occurs to them. “Wait - how did you get this number? I don’t remember giving it to you.”

Keith laughs nervously on the other end. “Oh, yeah. Uh, you’re friends with Shiro on Facebook and I figured there probably isn’t a lot of people named ‘Pidge’ in his friends list. You have your phone number listed on there so I just took a gamble.”

Pidge nods out of respect. “Sneaky. Nicely done, Keith.”

“Thanks?”

“Anyways,” Pidge glances over at Shiro who is staring them down from the rink. “I should probably go before your brother explodes. See you next week, Keith.”

“Okay. Yeah. See you then.”

They press the ‘end call’ button and slip their phone into their bag, still turned on. They push back onto the ice with ease and a smile on their face.

“Who was that?” Shiro asks, arms crossed in an attempt at anger that falls flat.

“Your brother.” Pidge hooks their arms behind their back as they approach. “He wants to come to Wednesday’s early practice.”

Shiro sighs, shaking his head. “I knew my brother was too damn stubborn to give this up.”

“Like brother like brother, I guess.” Hunk comments, sneaking up beside Shiro.

“I am not nearly as stubborn as he is.” Shiro huffs.

“Oh really?” Pidge rubs at their chin, pensively. “Then why won’t you tell Allura how you feel about her?”

Shiro fixes them with another glare that is this time interrupted by Lance skating in between the two of them.

“Oh Pidge,” he says with a grin. “That’s not stubbornness. Shiro’s just too much of a baby to fess up.”

“Can we not do this? _Please?_ ” Shiro groans loudly and pinches the bridge of his nose while the three younger skaters taunt him. “Let’s just get back to practicing, okay?”

“Fine, fine,” Pidges concedes, holding up their hands defensively. “I’m done.”

Following Shiro’s lead, the three of them skate out towards the middle of the ice, Hunk falling in beside Pidge.

“What did you order, by the way?” He asks politely.

Pidge smirks up at him and shrugs their shoulders playfully. “It’s a _surprise._ ”

Ahead of them, Shiro and Lance exchange worried looks. Lance glances back at Pidges expression before dropping his face into his hands in defeat.

“We’re all gonna die.” He whines.

Pidge laughs to themselves. It was just a spare cell phone charger. But they didn’t need to know that.

* * *

He’s gonna be honest: Keith has not missed this.

When his alarm started screaming at 5:45 in the morning he thought he was going to cry. Why anyone would choose to be up this early without legitimate cause is _beyond him_.

It took all his strength to get himself up out of bed and to the train station. He’s almost certain that he fell asleep while waiting for train ‘cause he barely remembers _actually_ catching it. He stopped by the same coffee shop this morning just shortly after 6:00 (same barista, somehow still just as chirpy) for a couple shots of espresso. The barista didn’t bother attempting to start a conversation with him, seeing as Keith probably looked like he was three seconds away from a murderous rampage, and just handed him his shots without question. They had been the most delicious drinks Keith has ever had but that could have been related to him being up painfully early. He’s not entirely sure.

Keith arrives at the rink about fifteen minutes early and curses himself for not sleeping in for an extra quarter of an hour. He has to put his whole body into opening the door to the arena, almost falling flat on his face when it swings open.

 _No human being can be functional at this hour. It’s legitimately impossible._ He thinks as he catches himself on the door handle.

“I guess you’re not a morning person, huh?” A voice calls out to him. Keith looks around, too tired to be embarrassed, and catches sight of Pidge leaning against a wall as they tap away on their cell phone.

“You,” Keith trudges over to them, only now starting to feel the effects of the caffeine kicking in. “Have no idea.”

They tuck their phone into their pocket as Keith reaches their side and looks up at him with bags under their eyes. “It’s been a few years that Shiro has been coaching me. I have a bit of an idea.”

“Uuugghh - he obviously does this to torture his students.” Keith rubs his eyes in an attempt to wake up. “There is no other explanation.”

“Well then,” a hand clamps down on Keith’s shoulder, making him jump suddenly. “I guess I’ve been figured out.”

Pidge, unfazed, stifles a yawn before nodding towards the newly appeared Shiro. “Speak of the devil.”

“You are a cruel human being,” Keith glares up at his brother and his stupidly cheery face. _It is too damn early for this._

“This is just payback for how much you tortured me as a kid.” Shiro spins a set of keys around his finger as he talks. “You only have yourself to blame, Keith.” Keith’s glare only increases in intensity but Shiro laughs it off. “Glad you came to watch, Keith. If I had known this was all it took to get you up this early, I would have signed you up for figure skating lessons years ago.”

Pidge, now hoisting a backpack onto their shoulders, fixes Keith with a coy smirk. “I can think of a few reasons Keith is up this early and only one of them is ‘figure skating’.”

Keith looks towards them, eyes narrowed. “What?”

“Nothing,” they say, the epitome of innocence.

Keith continues to stare them down, not falling for their feigned naivety, as Shiro claps him on the back encouragingly.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” He picks through his large key ring before finding the right one and sticking it into the lock on the rink door. He goes to turn it but nothing happens. “What?” He flattens a palm out against the door and gives it a shove. “It’s already unlocked?”

Just then, loud pop music starts to drift out through the now open door. Keith looks over at Shiro who suddenly looks ten years older.

“Oh nooo _ooooooooo_ -” Pidge throws their head back, hands gripping their wild hair. “Uuughh, why is he here so _early_?!”

Shiro slaps a hand to his forehead, sighing loudly as he turns away from the two of them. “I’ll go shut him down.” And with that, he disappears down the hallway toward the stairwell.

“What?” Keith looks between the two of them and follows Pidge as they make their way towards the ice. The pop music grows louder with every step. “Who’s here early?”

“Lance.” Pidge hands leave their hair to drag down their face in annoyance. “He does this sometimes.”

“I thought he was always late?” Keith frowns.

“Remember how I said that life is one big practical joke? Well, Lance is that shitty Youtuber who’s idea of a practical joke is to flat out torture people.” They throw their bag down in one of the front rafters and fall down beside it, already hauling a laptop out onto their lap. Keith sits down beside them, his own bag piled on top of him. “Now you get a front row seat to his brand of lunacy. Just -- don’t let him know we’re here. He gets obnoxious with an audience. More so than normal.”

Keith peers out towards the ice and, sure enough, there is Lance, arms stretched out above his head and back arched. The music begins counting down from 4 and he drops them out to his side with a smile on his face.

 

_Let me hear you scream if you want some more._

_Like: ahhhhhhhhh. Push it! Push it!_

_Watch me work it,_

_I’m perfect!_

 

This routine is nothing like Allura and Shiro’s from last week - it’s all flamboyance and flair, with Lance shimmying his way across the ice. His footwork is clean and articulated as he mouths along to the words, hands gesturing to himself, vainly. Keith doesn’t want to admit it but, narcissism aside, Lance looks incredibly impressive during a legitimate routine. He hasn’t seen him do more than the basics from last week’s lesson and, while his skill showed through even then, it was something entirely different watching him _actually_ skate. His long legs pump across the ice, arms flowing smoothly in the air, and Keith _really tries_ not to stare at his ass while he crosses over one end of the rink.

He fails.

He’s watching, completely dumbstruck, as the pompous skater moves into a series of spins and Keith prays that the warmth in his cheeks isn’t visible.

 _Keith, get a hold of yourself. He is so full of himself and this is_ **_not. your. type._ **

Suddenly, a voice is right by his ear, low and exasperated. “Frankly, his song choices are _awful_.”

Keith nearly flies out of his seat, letting out an embarrassingly high screech and clutching at his bag. Leaning on the back of their seats is the dark-skinned man from the photos in the tech room, expression bored. He watches Lance skate with a look that says he’s seen it all. Pidge - who somehow never seems to be caught off guard - glances over at him, hands still typing away on their keyboard.

“Hey, Hunk.”

Hunk’s eyes shift over to Pidge, smiling as he waves a hand ‘hello’. “How’s your brother doing, Pidge?”

“Still sick.” They sigh dramatically, à la Lance. “He’s gonna be so pissed at Lance when he finally gets here. I bet the asshole broke something on the control panel again.” Hunk nods sagely, eyes closed, and Pidge continues, gesturing over to Keith. “Also this is Keith.”

Keith is still recovering from the scare and clutches his chest while he tries to regulate his breathing. He barely manages to gulp down a few lungfuls of air when Hunk looks over to him.

“Ohh!” Hunk appraises him, eyebrows raised. “So _this_ is the guy that Lance keeps going on about! For once, he won’t stop talking about training.”

The red of Keith’s cheeks, which has only just died down, flares up again. _Stop this, Keith, honestly._ He reprimands himself silently.

Hunk extends a hand to him as he leans over the seats more, nearly crushing Pidge. “Hey - I’m Hunk. Lance is my roommate.”

Keith takes the giant man’s hand and is surprised by how gently he shakes it. “Keith. Lance, uh, trains me?”

“Oh, I know.” Hunk winks at Keith before turning his attention back to Lance, now pushing quickly across the length of the ice. “Sorry you have to bear witness to this.”

Pidge groans once more from behind their computer screen. “Annoying, ain’t it?”

Keith looks out over the ice as Lance moves into a fast, two foot spin, arms tucked into his chest. “I don’t know…” He mutters. “I think it’s kind of….” He trails off momentarily as one of Lance’s arms reaches out above him, the other catching a hold of his right skate and lifting his foot in the air, never breaking the spin. Against his better judgment, Keith finds himself _actually_ voicing his thoughts.

“...Pretty.”

Lance eases out of the spin, moving into an easy backwards crossover towards one end of the rink, and turns his head out towards the rafters. Keith notices the spark of recognition in Lance’s eye as he realizes he has an audience (and prays he can’t see the pink of Keith’s cheeks).

“Aaaaand - he saw us.” Pidge heaves out a sigh.

Lance continues to pick up speed, adding in a few twirls and hops with a flourish before starting to curve around the edge of the rink. He holds his arms out on either side of him, glancing over his shoulder to where he’s headed, and, with a swing of his leg, flings himself into the air. He rotates a few times with his arms tight against his chest, lands for a barely a second before jumping once more into a second twist. He lands the second one, leg extended out behind him and arms lifted, and swoops into a ballerina-like twirl. He looks over to the three of them and _winks_ , smile confident.

Behind him, Hunk sighs defeatedly. Pidge looks visibly ill. And Keith - he just prays his face doesn’t start steaming as he sucks in a sharp breath through his nose.

“What -” Keith’s voice cracks halfway through the word. He clears his throat and tries again, going for indifferent curiosity. “What was that?”

Pidge, not even looking up from their computer screen, sighs. “Double axel triple toe. It’s a common combination in routines.”

If that was common, Keith doesn’t know if he’ll survive seeing any of the ‘rare’ combinations.

Lance, now skating backwards, is just about to launch himself once more into the air when his music suddenly cuts out, being replaced instead by a loud and angry Shiro.

“ **_Lance!_ ** ”

Lance, obviously not expecting this, screams, loses his footing, and comes crashing down onto the ice. He slides a few feet before he catches himself and rolls over, leaning back on his hands.

“What the _hell_ , Shiro?!” He shakes his fist up toward the tech room window where Keith can just barely make out Shiro’s angry face. “That was totally uncool - I was just getting to my Triple Salchow!”

“I don’t care!” The intercom crackles as Shiro all but screams into the mic. “You know you’re not allowed in the control room.” Lance rolls his eyes and, even though Keith knows Shiro can’t see it, it’s almost like he _knew_ it was coming. “Don’t start with me, Lance. If it needs replacing, you’re paying for a new lock! Now gear up, practice starts soon!”

Lance throws himself backwards onto the ice like a toddler having a tantrum. “Uggggghhhhh - _FINE._ ”

Shiro disappears from the window as Lance slowly starts to haul himself to his feet with a frown. Pidge closes their laptop and Hunk thumps the back of the seats twice.

“Guess that’s our cue to get going.” Hunk straightens up, hands on his hips.

“Thank _god_ that’s over.” Pidge digs through their bag for their skates, dropping the laptop in their place. “I don’t know how you live with him, Hunk.”

“Ahhh, he’s not _that_ bad.” He stretches his arms up over his head and is rewarded with a few satisfying cracks. “Are you joining us today, Keith?”

“Wha -” Keith turns towards the tower of a man looking down at him. “No. No - I’m still in the….” He scratches his nose, embarrassed. “T-tadpole class.”

“Oh!” Hunk raises his eyebrows at him. “For some reason I thought you were training to be Lance’s new pairs partner? My bad.”

Keith perks up at that. “Lance skates pairs?”

Pidge whips their head to glare at Hunk who pretty much cowers under their gaze. They seem to have a full conversation in looks alone while Keith stares on, waiting. Eventually Pidge sighs, standing out of their seat with their skates hung over their shoulder.

“Not anymore.” They step past Keith out into the aisle, dismissing the conversation as they turn their back to him.

“Why would he be getting a new partner, then?” Keith frowns at the younger skater.

“He’s not.”

“But Hunk just said -”

“Keith.” Pidge turns to face Keith, expression stern. “It was a misunderstanding. Lance skates single only now. Leave it alone.”

Keith shuts his mouth, taken aback, as Pidge trudges towards the edge of the ice to stretch against the boards. Once again, he feels that line he’s crossed scream out at him. First the photo now this?

“Y’know,” Hunk sighs, handing clamping down on Keith’s shoulder. Keith glances up at him as he talks. “Everyone here is kind of like one big family. I know Pidge sometimes acts like they hate Lance, but deep down they really care about him and -” Hunk fixes him with a warning look, then. “They won’t let anyone hurt him. So maybe just - just step back from the questions for a bit. Alright?”

Although he ends the sentence with a smile, Keith can’t help but feel a little intimidated by the enormous skater. He nods meekly, unsure of what else to do, and Hunk’s smile grows brighter.

“Well,” he picks up a gym bag from the seat behind him and steps out into the aisle after Pidge. “Enjoy the lesson and if you ever need a hand - with skating or with how to deal with Lance - just let me know.”

Keith watches him go with a blank expression. Pidge has pulled on their skates and is just now stepping onto the ice. They call out to Lance, voice sarcastic and teasing, and he responds with a scowl.

There was more to all of this than everyone was letting on but, if Hunk’s warning means anything, he knows that it’s not something Keith has the right to know just yet. His curiosity still eats away at him, mind whirring to try to come up with an explanation for their behaviour.

With a shrug, he leans back in his seat. Shiro has entered the rink from the other side of the boards and is wagging his finger at Lance, who barely seems to care.

 _Well_ , Keith thinks. _You’re here now, Keith. Let’s see how you feel after watching a real lesson._

* * *

Real lessons, Keith learns, are intense.

Pidge and Hunk are apparently partners for pairs skating and Keith can’t help but stare at the size difference between the two. He was initially worried that Pidge couldn’t handle skating with someone so much bigger than them, and that concern only grew when the two of them ran through their routine for the first time. For the first little while, they just skated around each other, showing off with some fancy footwork and synchronized twirls. However, part way through, Hunk puts his hands on Pidge’s waist and _literally throws them several feet into the air_. Keith watches, mouth agape, as they spin multiple times in the air and land - LIKE NOTHING HAPPENED - leg extended behind them. Arms held out to their side they move back in beside Hunk, whose arm finds their waist once more and they both race down the rink. Keith has barely recovered before Hunk sinks down into a squat, planting his pick into the ice and starts spinning Pidge at a terrifying speed around him. Pidge is nearly parallel with the ice, their head almost grazing the surface while they grip onto Hunk’s hand and allow themself to be spun around and around. Yet again, they ease out of the move like it was nothing, twirling delicately in Hunk’s hand before continuing on with the rest of the routine.

Once they finally finish, Keith is floored. They seemed an unlikely pair but somehow work so perfectly together. Hunk is surprisingly light on his feet, just as smooth and fluid as his tiny partner. On top of that, Pidge’s snark off the ice is all but gone when they skate - replaced, instead, by polished skill and athletics. Shiro doesn’t seem to see what Keith sees, though, sliding in beside them with corrections.

“Your lead up to your throw was great, guys. But Pidge,” Shiro looks to the heavily breathing skater to his right. “You need to push up from your knee bend when you land. It was a little wobbly today.”

Pidge nods, hands on their hips as they try to catch their breath. “What -” They start. “What about the death spiral? Was my head low enough?”

Shiro smiles proudly, flashing them a thumbs up. “Perfect.”

Lance, who has been sitting a few rafters ahead of Keith during their routine, turns his head towards Keith.

“The death spiral was the one where Hunk was spinning them around like a ragdoll,” he explains. “To receive full points, Pidge’s head has to be at the same level as their skating knee.”

Keith blinks over at him, taken aback by the sudden addressal. Lance seems to realize that Keith didn’t actually ask for an explanation and flushes, eyes wide, before turning back in his seat with a huff.

“I just -” He folds his arms over his chest. “Figured you’d want to know.”

“Uh -” Keith mumbles. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Once it’s Lance’s turn on the ice, Keith tries to hide his interest. If what he pulled off earlier was considered ‘common’, Keith wonders what else he was capable of.

It turns out, however, that Lance isn’t running through a routine, but is just working on individual moves and transitions. Pidge, who plopped beside Keith after their routine, explains.

“Lance likes to throw everything he has into the big jumps and flashy moves. Shiro has been trying to get him to focus on the smaller bits for a while now.” They pull a headband out of their bag and push their wild locks back from their face.

Keith just nods, leaning forward to listen to the conversation happening on the ice.

“Let’s start with your spread eagles.” Shiro skates a little away from Lance as the latter shifts easily into what Keith assumes is the aforementioned move. “Good. Now, remember, this leads into your triple axel so imagine the transition in your mind before giving it a shot.”

Lance nods, stopping himself with one fluid motion before starting the move once more. He holds it longer this time, arms extended out and above him, then throws himself into the air in a seemingly perfect jump. He lands, leg pushed out behind him and Shiro slides in.

“You keep leaning onto the inside of your blade before you jump.” Shiro explains. “It’s not a lot, but it’s just enough to throw off your entry. Just remember that you’re leading into it with an outside edge spread eagle, which is the same edge you want to take off of from.” Shiro pushes off into the same moves Lance was just demonstrating, talking as he skates. “Try switching between your inside and outside edges on your spread eagle,” Keith watches his brother lean backward then forward then launching himself into a jump. He lands and faces Lance. “Outside, inside, outside, jump. Got it?”

Keith looks over at Lance, following Shiro’s gaze, and is surprised to find that Lance’s eyes are on him. They stare at each other for a fraction of a second, Lance’s face flares with colour, and then the moment’s over and Lance is moving in beside Shiro to try again.

Keith feels self conscious, knowing he was being watched while he openly gawked at the skaters’ skills, but can’t seem to look away as Lance repeats the same thing. Keith notices very little (see: no) differences between the two times but Shiro seems pleased, congratulating Lance and rubbing his back proudly. Lance ducks his head, suddenly shy under Shiro’s praise.

 _The bashful look suits him much better,_ Keith thinks.

The rest of the practice is more of the same, alongside some individual work that has Shiro ducking between the three of them to critique their skating. Keith catches Lance’s eye a few more times but neither of them hold onto the look for more than a second. He wonders to himself if Lance is just making sure someone is watching him, to fuel his ego. It’s a definite and likely possibility.

The lesson is over before Keith knows it and the three exhausted skaters are trudging off the ice to the rafters. Shiro follows, wiping the shaved ice off his blades.

“You guys did really great today!” He smiles proudly down at them. “I am seeing so much improvement in your technique; you should be proud of yourselves.”

While they respond to Shiro’s compliments (Hunk smiles genuinely, Pidge scoffs as if they don’t care but blushes nevertheless, and Lance mock-flips his hair), Keith rises out of his seat to join them, bag slung over his shoulder.

“So, Keith,” Shiro starts. “What did you think?”

Keith would be lying if he didn’t see Lance peek over at him, keeping his head down to make it seem like he’s still untying his laces, but Keith can almost feel his eyes on the side of his face. He clears his throat nervously before he responds.

“It was g-great.” He tries. He looks over at Pidge and Hunk who both smile kindly up at him. “Really though - you guys were amazing. Just -” He lets his gaze trail over to Lance who is looking more directly at him now. His face _burns_ as he continues. “ - r-really amazing.”

As if sensing Keith’s flustered state, Pidge leans back in their seat, tipping their head back to stare at him with a wicked smile on their face.

“I bet I could guess your favourite part of the lesson.” They drawl.

Keith’s blush increases, only further confirming their suspicions. _Fuck this psychic kid. How did they do it?_

Hunk cuts in, saving Keith from what could have been a disastrously embarrassing moment.

“Well, _obviously_ , it was our routine, Pidge!” He slings an arm over the tiny person with a bright smile. “We’re going to _destroy_ the competition with that one!”

Before Keith can ask them any more about this competition, the door to the rink _slams_ open and a very angry looking Matt comes charging in.

“Uh oh,” Lance gulps, ducking slightly to the side to put Keith directly between him and Matt.

“ _Lance!_ ” Matt stomps down the aisle, knowing full well where Lance is and not even pausing to greet Keith as he moves him aside. Keith notes the dark circles under his eyes and the red of his nose, remembering that Pidge had said he was sick. He raises his hand and slaps a small yellow piece of paper to Lance’s forehead. While he glowers at the skater, Keith squints at the messy writing sprawled on it.

 _Make me, nerd_.

Keith remembers the note taped to the control room door, telling Lance to _Stay Out_ , and nearly rolls his eyes at Lance’s comeback.

“ _You -_ ” Matt jabs a finger at Lance’s nose, fuming. “You _know_ you’re not allowed in there! You don’t have a key for a reason! And yet _at least once a week_ I have to clean up after your mess.” He leans closer to a stunned Lance. “If anything is broken, _you_ are paying for it.”

Lance seems to shake himself out of his stupor and peels the sticky note from his forehead. “I didn’t break anything this time!” He huffs, like he’s the one that’s annoyed by this situation, but then he raises an eyebrow at the angry man standing before him. “I’m impressed, Matt. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you _this_ mad before. Didn’t know you were capable of it.”

Keith is starting to worry that Matt might actually lunge at him but he just raises his voice even louder in Lance’s face. “I’m in a BAD MOOD because SOMEONE broke into MY TECH ROOM _AGAIN.”_

“Okay, okay,” Shiro steps in, holding his hands up to diffuse the situation. Matt, although still heaving in angry breaths, pulls his attention away from Lance to stare at Shiro. “Let’s all calm down a bit. Matt, was anything actually broken?”

“I -” Matt seems torn between being angry and being flustered by Shiro’s proximity. “I don’t know if anything big is broken yet, but the lock definitely needs replacing.”

“Lance.” Shiro looks behind him to where Lance sits smugly. “You owe Matt a new lock. You have until Friday.”

Lance’s grin is wiped off his face as he looks at Shiro disbelievingly. “Shiro! You can’t be ser-”

Shiro narrows his eyes at him in warning. “ _Lance_.”

Lance shuts his mouth with an angry huff of breath. He stares Shiro down for a few seconds longer before giving in.

“Fine.”

“Good.” Shiro nods, turning back to a now slightly calmer Matt. “So -- are you feeling any better? You looked pretty rough the last time I saw you.”

“Oh -” Matt’s face flushes as he gazes up at Shiro’s look of genuine concern. Suddenly he’s back to the person Keith met last week. “Yeah. Um, much better. Thanks.”

Behind Shiro’s back, Keith notices Pidge roll their eyes, a look of sympathy plastered to their face. Shiro is oblivious, of course, and continues on with the conversation.

“That’s good! Glad you’re feeling more like yourself.” He then fixes his gaze on the rest of them. “Now, tadpole lessons start in an hour and half of you need to be ready for it. The other half, go cool down.”

“Actually,” Pidge pipes up. “I wanted to try something with Keith.”

Keith frowns at them. “What?”

“I think,” they start. “I figured out a way to make the transition to figure skates a little easier. I wanted to show it to you before the lessons start.” They stand up and slowly make their way towards the ice. “Besides, it will be a good warmup for you.”

“Oh,” Keith looks over at them, nerves picking up in his stomach. “Sure. Just, uh, let me put on my skates.”

* * *

Lance watches Keith tread carefully onto the ice, Pidge at his side for both emotional and physical support (seeing as Keith is clinging desperately to their arm). Lance is now starting his usual cool down routine, bent over to stretch out his hamstrings, while Shiro leans against the boards to watch his brother trip across the ice.

Lance straightens and moves onto his arms, pulling one against his chest and nodding towards Keith’s unsteady form. “Why is he still here _?_ ” He asks. “I thought _for sure_ he’d quit. I mean, just look at his form!”

“He’s new at this, Lance. Be nice.” Shiro shoots him a scolding look then continues. “And, if Keith likes anything more than hockey, it’s a challenge. It really doesn’t shock me that he’s stuck around.”

Lance eyes Keith’s poor posture - bent forward, shoulders hunched up to his ears - as he switches arms. “He’s a hockey player, you said?

“Yeah, left winger.”

On the ice, Keith catches his pick and stumbles forward into Pidge’s arms. “He sure isn’t very light on his feet, is he?” Lance remarks as he watches Pidge lift him up and correct his form with surprisingly little snark.

“He doesn’t need to be.” Shiro shrugs. “In his sport, he hits hard and scores fast. There’s no dancing, no elegance - it fits him perfectly.”

Lance snorts. What kind of sport was that? “Was that his job? To score the points?”

“Technically that’s _everyone’s_ job. That’s the point of the game.” Shiro rolls his eyes at Lance’s snide comment. “But, yeah. On top of his scoring ability, he built himself up to be a real fighter. I can’t count how many times I’ve seen him with a black eye or bloody nose. He doesn’t know when to let it go.”

Lance watches Keith spin awkwardly, his face coming into full view and Lance’s mind ( _without permission_ ) imagines him with a snarl on his lips and blood trickling down his chin. He feels heat creep up his chest and neck, coughing into his hand as he ducks his head to hide it.

 _Okay, so that was kind of hot. But we don’t need to think about that, Lance._ He lectures himself.

“Well,” Lance manages to choke out. “We’ll see if he can make the switch.”

“It’s not as easy as it seems, you know.” Shiro comments as he turns away from the ice. “It even took me awhile to get the hang of it.”

“Ah, yes - but this is the _extraordinary Keith_ we’re talking about. You, yourself, said he was a natural at everything.” Lance tilts his head towards the ice. “Why is he having such a hard time with this one thing?”

“I don’t know, honestly.” Shiro shrugs and starts to step away from the rink. “Anyways, I have things to do before the lesson starts. I’ll be back soon.”

Lance watches him go as he lifts his hands above his head, pulling at the tight muscles in his back. Behind him, he hears Pidge exclaim excitedly and just manages to catch the ending of a surprisingly elegant Mohawk executed by none other than Mullet Man himself. He stops himself on the ice and looks up at Pidge with genuine surprise on his face.

“Did you see that?” He asks, hardly believing it himself.

Pidge nods and crosses their arms with a satisfied smile. “I knew that would work - you were just using your head too much.”

It seems, however, that they spoke too soon because Keith’s feet literally fly out from under him and he slams down hard onto the ice.

Lance shakes his head at the pathetic display.

Pidge helps Keith to his feet, checking to make sure he’s okay, before they readjust the headband slipping back on their head. “I’m sorry, Keith, but I’ve gotta go work on stuff with Matt.” They pat his arm reassuringly. “You’ll get there, I know you will.”

Keith just nods, looking a little embarrassed and even more dejected, and lets them skate out across to the other side of the ice to where Shiro first emerged this morning. Although, to give him credit, Keith keeps on trying. He tries for another Mohawk but nearly face plants this time. Lance notices the slow slump of his shoulders the longer he skates, like he’s slipping back into hockey-playing muscle memory.

_This would definitely be a challenge._

_But -_

 

* * *

Keith could tell Lance was scrutinizing him, it was kind of hard to miss, but this didn’t feel like the same judgemental stares as last week. Something was different in this look and he couldn’t help but flush under his intense gaze. As he struggles through a wobbly bunny hop, he catches his eye.

“What’s your problem?” He mumbles.

Lance purses his lips, thinking. “I’m just trying to figure out how you could change your stance. Your footwork isn’t actually that bad but your posture - It’s too hunched and is ruining everything.”  

Keith scoffs. “Gee, _thanks_.”

Lance rolls his eyes and steps onto the ice, the perfect example of grace - especially when placed next to Keith. “In case you missed it, I did _actually_ compliment you, there.”

“A compliment doesn’t really mean much if it’s immediately followed by a criticism, Lance.”

“Hmm,” Lance hums as he circles around him, hand to his chin. “There’s gotta be a way to get the figure skating posture into your brain.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well - unless you have a brace I can wear while I skate, I don’t think there’s much else that can be done.” The words have barely left his mouth when Lance stops abruptly, his face suddenly bright red and he stares down at the ice. Keith frowns at him in confusion. “Lance?”

He doesn’t look at him. In fact, it looks like he’s purposefully avoiding eye contact as he moves over to Keith with an almost pained expression.  
“What are you doing?” Keith looks around his shoulder at the tall skater and the ever growing blush that’s slowly consuming his entire face. He is just about to turn to face him when he feels Lance press a hand to the small of his back. Keith stops - stops moving, stops breathing, stops living, just stops everything - as Lance’s other hand reaches up to hold Keith’s left forearm. “N-no seriously- ” Keith chokes. “- W-what are you -?”

“Don’t.” Lance cuts him off, voice almost (but not quite) too close to Keith’s ear. “Don’t say a damn word.”

“But -”

“ _I_ -” Lance mumbles and Keith is certain that if he could see his face, it would somehow be brighter. “I’m gonna be y - your brace, okay?” Lance’s skin is _burning_ where it touches Keith’s and he’s sure his is, as well. Lance continues. “Just - just start skating.”

Keith obeys, if only because he doesn’t know what else to do, and he feels Lance start to match his steps.

“You-” Lance clears the squeak from his voice and continues. “You have to keep your back straight.”The hand on Keith’s back pushing just a little harder as his steps move into a somewhat regular rhythm. “It will help keep the weight off the front of your pick.”

Keith straightens up and feels Lance pull his arm up a little higher which forces his shoulders back. Skating suddenly feels a hundred times easier with Lance there guiding him. He tests the waters - or, I guess, ice - by leaning over to his right to turn them on the ice. To his surprise, it works. The both of them ease into a semi-fluid arc across the ice and Keith starts to feel the bubble of nervous and shocked laughter work its way out of him.

“Th-this is -” Keith shakes his head. “I can’t believe this is working.”

Lance lets out the smallest laugh behind him. “Now,” He leads them into a straight line down the ice. “Try to memorize how your body is right now. I’m gonna let go in a few seconds and I want you to hold this posture while you skate.”

Keith zones in on his body, then. How far back his shoulders are, the sweet spot of his blades against the ice, the long, smooth push of his legs now mirrored by Lance’s. He may or may not spend a few extra seconds focusing on the light pressure from Lance’s hand on his body, but no one needs to know that.

And just like that, that pressure is gone and Keith is moving on his own. Lance appears in front of him, cheeks now only barely dusted pink, skating backwards as he watches. Keith’s first instinct is to lurch forward but he forces himself to keep his shoulderblades pushed together. He has yet to take a step and is just relying on the momentum from Lance’s guiding steps.

As if sensing his uncertainty, Lance catches his eye with an uncharacteristically supportive look. “You’ve got it, Keith. Just give it a try.”

Keith holds his gaze for a few seconds, breathes in deep, and takes a step.

And he stays up.

Another. Still standing.

One more.

Suddenly, he’s skating. It’s still a little choppy and unsteady, but he’s skating.

Lance beams at him. “Told you.”

Keith experiments with another slow lean that takes him into wide turn on the ice. He feels giddy.

Lance stops in the middle of the ice as he watches Keith _actually_ skate, arms held out to keep himself up. A few times, he catches himself hunching forward and is quick to readjust. He almost doesn’t want to stop, in fear of losing this sudden success, but he knows he has to. He slowly winds down a few feet from Lance, arms wobbly as he eases into an awkward stop. Lance just stands there, arms crossed, while Keith takes a few heavy breaths as he processes what just happened. Keith seems dumbstruck for a few seconds -

\- then he smiles. Really smiles. His face alight with unabashed pride in himself. The nervous bubbles of laughter that had start spilling out earlier turned into quiet giggling which transforms into full-on, joyful _laughter_.

He has a hard time staying on his feet when he’s laughing so hard, leaning forward onto his knees and nearly wiping out. Lance grabs ahold of his arm and hoists him up as Keith covers his mouth, practically snorting at this point.

“Dude,” Lance places a hand on his shoulder to steady him. “What is wrong with you?” He acts like he’s annoyed with Keith, but Keith can just barely hear a smile coating his words.

Keith tries - he really does - to stifle the laughter as he looks up at Lance. He drops his hand to his chest and desperately tries to catch his breath, mouth still wide in a smile.

“Sorry,” he says breathily. “I just - I didn’t think I’d ever get the hang of it.”

Lance, eyes wide, blinks at him while Keith pushes the hair back from his own eyes.

This close up, Keith thinks he spots the faintest dusting of pink across the bridge of Lance’s nose, but then he’s backing away, ducking his head to scratch at the back of his back. Keith silently notes that he enjoys this quieter and unaffected version of Lance _much more_ than the usual Lance.

“Yeah, well -” Lance mumbles, his back now turned to Keith. “With a teacher as good as me, even the impossible is possible.”

_Aaaand he’s back to normal._

Keith rolls his eyes, pushing off after him, still reveling in how much easier he moves across the ice.

“Why did it take so long then?” He jabs.

Lance reaches the edge of the rink and taps the extra ice off his blade as he talks. “Teaching you to skate is like sculpting the _David_ out of playdough.” He hops through the doorway with ease and shoots Keith a coy grin.

“I hate to break it to you, Lance, but you’re no Michelangelo.” Keith follows his lead and steps (far more carefully) off the ice.

“Yeah, yeah,” Lance waves his hand dismissively. “Go stretch before the lesson, _Tadpole_. Now that you don’t look like a baby deer on ice, I’ll be throwing some harder stuff at you.”

Keith bites back a retort and leans against the boards to do his own stretching while Lance fiddles with his laces. He has returned to his usual narcissistic self but the image of him smiling encouragingly at Keith as he holds a hand out, ready to catch him, is burned into his mind no matter how hard Keith tries to will it away.

However - just as he pushes up from out of a low lunge, he catches Lance’s eyes on him. The latter turns away quickly, looking back at his skate laces with an intent interest and acting like he _wasn't_ just staring at him.

And Keith, despite not exerting any real effort, feels his heart rate pick up in his chest, fluttery and irregular like a bird’s wings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emily (Author & co-creator): wardenalistair.tumblr.com  
> Bronwyn (Artist & co-creator): soottea.tumblr.com
> 
> All the art from the fic is on Bronwyn's tumblr so you can reblog it and have it with you forever :))))  
> This chapters art is at:  
> http://soottea.tumblr.com/post/149676708895/comic-doodles-for-chapter-2-of-wardenalistair-and
> 
> Until next time!


	3. Iceta La Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: I had someone ask this on tumblr so I might as well add it here: if you guys want to talk about it on tumblr/draw art, tag your posts as fic: OTI or fic: on thin ice. That way we can hunt them down :))
> 
> This was a busy couple of weeks for me (Emily) - I had a wedding to attend and was working overtime at my job, plus I took a brief vacation for labour day - so it’s a slightly later update this time. It’s still long af so there’s that at least. 
> 
> Ch2 art is now available on Bronwyn’s tumblr and Ch3 art is coming! :D
> 
> Note: I’m sorry if I used ‘eh’ too much. It’s a habit, ok. Also do you Americans call them Debit Machines? DO YOU GUYS EVEN HAVE DEBIT CARDS??? Idk man point is: there’s probably a lot of Canadian-isms in my writing lmao #mybad (even tho this technically takes place in neither canada nor america but w/e)  
> Double note: It just occured to me that I apologized for being Canadian which is so viciously Canadian I can’t believe I did that. Okay. continue.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: The end of this chapter alludes to a panic attack. Nothing is written out descriptively but the implication is there. Take care reading, friends!

When Lance had made that ‘ _David_ -playdough’ dig, it had been mainly to poke fun at Keith, but that didn’t change the fact that Keith was not the type of student to give to a new teacher.

Okay, so maybe that wasn’t entirely true.

He tried hard. He did. He gave it his all and damn if he wasn’t stubborn. Lance would accept a poor excuse of a mohawk, saying they could move onto some new stuff, and Keith would _insist_ that he try again until it was near perfect. It meant that he was getting really good - at the same five moves. Lance wouldn’t say this was really a _bad_ thing but it did mean that he was a few steps behind the rest of the class. And that stubbornness of his wasn’t helpful when it came to taking instruction. Every tip Lance gave, every correction he made, was received with a scowl and an angry huff. It was irritating Lance to no end and part of him thought Keith did it on purpose, just to piss him off.

But there were some positives to having Keith as a student.

He did this one thing when he was concentrating. Lance first noticed it when he was working on his chassés. It’s not a particularly complicated move - at least not by Lance’s standards - but it ,for some reason, consumed most of Keith’s attention. Shoulders pushed back like Lance’s hand was still there to guide him, he wobbled his way through each step, frowning like he was solving the world’s hardest math equation. Lance had sent him in a large circle around center ice and, as he rounded down closer to where he was standing watch, Lance had chuckled at his intense concentration before -

See, most people just bite their lip or stick out their tongue in concentration, but no, not Keith.

Staring purposefully at the ice in front of him, Keith pursed his lips into this tiny, little pout, nose wrinkled as he shifted his weight from foot to foot.

And _damn_ it was adorable.

Stupidly adorable.

It should _not_ have affected Lance as much as it did. It should _not_ have reminded him about how openly he had laughed, his joy nearly contagious in its strength. It should _not_ have made him remember how much better he looked with a smile on his face than his usual indifferent stare.

It should not have done any of that.

But it did and Lance hates his mind for it.

 

Now, as Keith attempts a one foot spin, he’s doing it again.

Lance tries his best to focus on his posture, his footing, his technique - _something_ that isn’t that damn pout but he’s failing miserably.

Keith works his way through a pretty decent spin, nose scrunched up, and stops himself with his left pick. He looks up at Lance and raises his eyebrows.

“How was that?” He asks, eyes hopeful.

 _Stop thinking about his smile. Stop thinking about his smile. Stop thinking about his smile, god_ damn it _Lance._

“Uhhhhh-” Lance has to physically shake the dumb stare from his face before he can stutter out a sentence that has actual words in it. “G-good. That was… good.”

Keith’s arms, which were held out to his side when he stopped, drop to his side and he blows a piece of hair from his face. “How convincing.” He pushes off past Lance towards the boards and steps through the door to reaches for his bag. “You know, you’re a terrible liar. If I suck, you can just _tell_ me.”

“No - really.” Lance holds his hands up in front of him as Keith rummages through the many pockets of his gym bag. “It was good. Probably one of your better moves today.” Lance tries to pretend he doesn’t see the tiny smile grace Keith’s lips in response to Lance’s compliment and continues on with a tilt of his head. “What are you looking for, anyways?”

“I was _sure_ I had one in here…” Keith mumbles to himself, pulling a towel from the mini black hole that is his bag. He pushes a few things aside before he exclaims, snatching something up. “There it is!” He pulls his hand out, victorious, and, with hardly any trouble at all, he glides back to Lance’s side. Lance squints at the contents of his hand, but Keith has already trapped it between his teeth and is pulling his hair back with quick, swift movements. Lance watches in complete horror as he wraps the black elastic around the ponytail he’s created from his awful mullet, tightens it with a few tugs of his hair, and turns to stare at Lance expectantly.

Lance can’t react. Won’t react. He’s about three seconds from exploding into a million, tiny pieces onto the ice that Hunk will have to suck up into the zamboni.

“What?” Keith raises his eyebrows at him. “I can’t focus when my hair is falling in my eyes.”

“O-oh,” he manages. _Come on, Lance. Get a fucking hold of yourself, please for the love of god._ “Well th-then. Let’s try combining some moves, yeah?” He skates a few feet away from Keith, mainly just so he can compose himself, but he won’t say that, of course.

* * *

 

The lesson finally ends and Lance has never been happier to be off the ice in his whole life. He cuts off a few of the kids as he throws himself on a rafter and rips off his skates. Keith has been trapped by the young girl - Lance thinks her name is Tia? - from last week who begins to demand (loudly) that Keith show her what he’s learned. He tries to disway her interest a few times but it’s no good - she is determined. Lance can see the fall of Keith’s shoulders as he pushes off into a string of moves that Tia mimics effortlessly.

Shiro had mentioned a few of the Tadpoles to him, noting the few that had genuine potential, and Lance is _sure_ she must be one of them. She eases through a mohawk into a lunge like it’s nothing and, when Keith has exhausted his repertoire, shows off with a pretty impressive Waltz jump. Keith, despite his best attempts remain apathetic, genuinely smiles at her as she bounces in front of him, clinging onto his hand. The warmth in his gaze makes Lance’s heart skip a beat and he has to look away to hide his flustered state.

A hand slaps down on his shoulder, then, making him jump out of his skin, and Shiro smiles down at him.

“Keith’s making pretty good progress, isn’t he?” He shuffles into the seat behind him and begins removing his own skates.

“Yeah,” Lance shrugs his shoulders like he doesn’t care. “He’s doing alright, I guess.”

“Good.” Shiro nods firmly, all business. “I’m glad. I could tell he was getting frustrated last week. But this week he seems to have gotten the hang of it.” He leans forward to catch Lance’s eye as he continues. “What did you do?”

Lance has a momentary and _unsolicited_ flashback to him guiding Keith across the ice. He remembers how naturally their steps fell into place, how easily Keith followed his lead. He pushes the thought aside and waves his hand in front of his wave, dismissively.

“Well, you know,” he tries for cockiness but it sounds slightly forced, even to his own ears. “When you’re talented as I am -”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” Pidge arrives on scene, Hunk in tow behind them, with a scowl painted on their face.

“What?” Lance wrestles his skates off of his feet and drops them in his waiting bag. “You don’t even know what I was going to say!”

“That’s true,” they admit. “But if it’s coming from your mouth, I know it’s going to annoy me.”

Lance shoots them the best _fuck off_ look he can manage and Pidge responds by sticking out their tongue at him.

“Hunk? Why are you here?” Shiro ignores them entirely and turns to address Hunk.  “I don’t remember scheduling you for practice today.”

“Oh - no, no.” He gestures towards Lance. “I’m here to pick up Sir Lancelot. We’ve got a gym date.”

“Romantic,” Pidge sneers as they throw their bag down beside Shiro.

“Hey now,” Lance swings his own bag over his shoulder and trudge over to Hunk. “Are you saying you _don’t_ want to spend two hours locked in a small room with sweaty people who grunt loudly while bench pressing twice their body weight?”

Pidge, who was pulling off their sports jacket, deadpans. “Yes.”

Lance is about to one-up Pidge’s snark levels when Keith appears, stepping smoothly off the ice, with his hand clamped between Tia’s.

“Next week,” she says, her voice an adorable squeak. “You have to come skate with me, okay?

“Tia…” Keith sighs.

“Nope.” She cuts him off with a shake of her head. “You’re always skating with _him_ -” and now she’s pointing accusingly at Lance. “-  and it’s not fair! Next time you _have_ to skate with me.”

Keith seems to realize fighting with an adamant seven year old is futile and admits defeat, nodding dejectedly. Lance has to suppress laughter as Tia smiles brightly and swings their still-joined hands between them.

“And!” She adds excitedly and her eyes practically sparkle. “Next week I’ll have a _new dress_ so you have to look nice! Okay, Keith?”

“I will try --” Keith sighs, long and deep before he continues. “-- to look nice.”

“Good!” She offers him one more smile before she relinquishes her grip on his hand and darts off towards the crowd of parents a few rafters down. She waves off her shoulder as if it was an afterthought. “Bye-bye!”

Keith waves back at her then plops down beside Shiro to untie his laces. “How -” he starts, exasperated. “- is she _so good_?”

Shiro chuckles and slaps his brother once hard on the back. “Don’t take it too personally, Keith. Some people just have a natural talent for figure skating.” He jerks his head towards Lance, then. “Like this one - he was _leagues_ ahead of his class and would even sneak into the senior lessons when I wasn’t paying attention.”

Lance rolls his eyes and goes to respond but Keith beats him to the punch.

“Of course _he_ was a natural, that much is obvious.” He doesn’t look at anyone as he talks, focusing too much on the knot of his laces, so he misses the surprised look on Lance’s face. Shiro doesn’t, though, and smirks silently to himself while Keith violently yanks the skate from his foot. Lance does his best to control the blatant blush that creeps up his neck to his face but how could Shiro _not_ see it?

But then, Hunk - incredible, wonderful, _life-saving_ Hunk - is calling his name.

“We should get going, Lance.” He takes a step towards the rink door. “I have a fitting with Shay after we’re done at the gym and I want to have enough time to shower at home before I head over.”

Lance, thankful for the change of subject, leaps to his feet, bag already in hand. “Shay lives _one floor up from us_ , dude. I think you’ll have enough time.”

“Yeah, well -” Hunk scratches at the back of his head bashfully.

“Whatever, lover boy,” Lance smirks at him then offers the rest of the group a wave. “ _Ice_ -ta la later, folks!”

A collective groan is all he receives as he follows Hunk’s lead to the outside world.

* * *

Lance wipes the sweat from his upper lip, one handing hovering to spot Hunk while he bench presses a genuinely terrifying amount of weight.

“Dude,” Lance says, staring down at him. “Didn’t you _just_ up your weights the other day?”

A sharp breath _whooshes_ out of Hunk as he pushes the bar up once more. “Yeah well,” he deposits the bar on the stand and sits ups to mop at the sweat on his brow. “I’m the one throwing Pidge around on the ice so I gotta be prepared.”

Lance steps around to the side of the bench and checks the weights. “I’m pretty sure this is at least double Pidge’s weight.”

“Actually, it’s more like triple.” Hunk pushes himself to his feet and flexes dramatically while Lance takes his place on the bench.

“Yeah, yeah,” Lance squares his shoulders under the bar. “Pay attention, Hunk-ules - you’re spotting me, now.”

Hunk rests his hands on his hips and raises an eyebrow at Lance, smirking. “You’re not gonna remove some weight first?”

“It’s only a few pounds more than what I usually lift.” Lance presses his hands around the bar, fingers flexing. “I can do it.”

“‘A few pounds’,” Hunk shakes his head but rounds the bench anyways and places his own hands near the bar. “Alright, then. Go for it.”

Lance breathes deeply twice and, on the exhale of his second breath, pushes up into the bar.

It _might_ have it wiggled but, honestly, even that was questionable.

He tries again, his face contorting with the effort, but still: nothing.

Hunk bites back a snort. “You alright there, buddy?”

“Shut it,” Lance snaps back. “My arms are just too short to lift it off the stand.”

“Oh well, in _that_ case.” Hunk’s massive hands grip the bar beside Lance’s and lifts it above his shoulders. He fixes him with an amused look as he talks. “I’m gonna let go now - you ready?”

“Just let go of the bar, Hunk.”

Hunk rolls his eyes and slowly eases his hands away, the full weight of the bar now resting in Lance’s palms. He _just barely_ manages to keep his arms from buckling under the enormous amount of weight but he knows his face must be bright red from the exertion.

“You have to actually lift the weight, Lance. It’s not called a _bench press_ for nothing.”

“What--ever--Hunk.” Lance manages between breaths, forcing himself to inhale deeply a few times. Muscles _screaming_ at him, he slowly lowers the bar to his chest and smiles triumphantly. Wasting no time, he pushes back up, but - it doesn’t move. He lets out a hissing breath as he presses once more. Nope. Nothing.

Hunk stares down at him and his strained expression. “Come on, Lance. It’s only a _few more pounds_ , I’m sure you can do it!”

One of Lance’s legs kicks up as he fails under the weight of the bar, face pinched in effort, but still Hunk stares on.

“ _Lift the bar_ -” Lance wheezes. “- _please_.”

“Hmmmm,” Hunk scratches his chin as he ponders this option. “I don’t know… How will you ever get better if I keep swooping in to save you?” He taps his foot a few times.

 _“Hunk._ ” Lance’s voice is barely a squeak at this point.

With a hearty laugh, Hunk grabs hold of the bar and easily lifts it from Lance’s grasp, depositing it onto the stand. The air comes rushing back into Lance’s lungs all at once as he sits up, hand clutching at his chest. Hunk slaps him hard on the back and forces a few jagged coughs out of Lance.

“What a shame,” he feigns disappointment, hanging his head. “You almost had it there.” Lance whips his head up to look at him and fixes him with a deathly glare that, undoubtedly, falls flat. Hunk just rolls his eyes and starts pulling weights off the ends of the bar. “Well - if you’re done trying to show off - I think we should get going.”

Lance, having finally caught his breath, smirks at him. “Aahhhh - right, for your ‘fitting’ with Shay.”

Hunk tosses the last of the weights at Lance who only barely manages to catch it before being sent tumbling backwards off the bend.

“Whoops,” Hunk slings his previously discarded towel over his shoulder and heads towards the exit, leaving Lance to pick both himself and his dignity up off the ground.

* * *

 

Lance has managed to consume half a bag of popcorn and at least three cups of chocolate milk before Hunk emerges from the shower, towel wrapped around his waist. Hunk looks at him with sheer disgust as he notes the kernels littered across their couch cushions where Lance is posed.

“I honestly don’t know what to say anymore,” he says, scooping the remaining popcorn from Lance’s grasp. “It’s been almost two years that we’ve been living together and yet you still eat like a lonely frat boy.”

“I’m a growing boy!” Lance declares, mouth full of popcorn.

“Yeah - _right_.” Hunk drops the bag of popcorn on the kitchen counter with a roll of his eyes. “Lance, if you grow anymore, you’re going to be 90% legs.”

“My legs are a work of _art_ , Hunk.” Lance extends one leg into the air as he plops back onto his elbows. “Would that really be such a bad thing?”

“I’m not answering that.”

“That,” Lance points at him with his toes. “Is an answer in and of itself.”

Hunk huffs out a somewhat annoyed sigh but, despite his best attempts, hints of amusement still ring through. “Shouldn’t you clean up your diet now that you’re a teacher? Y’know - be a good role model and all of that.”

“No amount of modelling is going to get Keith up to my level of skating.” Lance throws his head back, dropping his leg to the couch once more.

“Oh, cut him some slack.” Hunk leans against the counter, arms crossed across his chest. “He’s trying.”

“Come _on_ ,” Lance throws his hands up over his head. “When you first started skating with Pidge you were better than that!”

“Yeah, but dude I had experience with figure skating. He’s doesn’t.” Hunk reaches for the apples near the fridge and chucks one at Lance (which smacks him directly in the face) before continuing. “And besides, he’s making some _serious_ improvement.”

Lance thinks back to Keith’s skating today, remembering how much more easily he moved across the ice, how much more confident he looked. He is also unfortunately _(or is it fortunately?_ ) reminded of his bright, proud smile. Lance crunches into the apple and barely chews it before he starts talking.

“Improvement or not, the guy is still a pain in my ass.”

“I don’t know, Lance. He seemed nice to me.” Hunk strides across the kitchen towards his room where he disappears behind his door.

“Yeah, well,” Lance raises his voice slightly to be heard through the walls. “You’re not the one teaching him.” Hunk doesn’t actually respond but Lance continues on anyways, gesturing wildly towards the ceiling as he talks. “I mean, the guy sometimes _flat out_ _ignores_ what I say - he’s so damn stubborn. And I know Shiro would say it’s because I was too harsh or something but it can be a tiny little correction that will keep him from smashing his face into the ice and he just _ignores me_.” Hunk reappears into the room, now donning an old band tshirt and jeans, and barely even looks at Lance while he rants. “You and Pidge seem to be all for him and, to be honest, I don’t know what the hell you guys see. What, is it his impulsivity?”

_His stupidly adorable smile?_

“His awful haircut?”

 _That looks so good tied up…_  

“His inability to stand upright on ice?”

_The warmth in his eyes when he looks at his brother? Like he’d do anything to protect those he cares about?_

“Please, just tell me ‘cause I don’t get it. What is it?”

 

Lance knows he’s lying. He doesn’t have himself fooled and, evidently, neither is Hunk.

“I don’t know, man.” He shrugs as he sticks his head in the fridge to rummage through what little they have. “But you sure do talk about him a lot.”

“What?” Lance sputters. “No, I don’t.”

Hunk scoffs at him, pulling out some leftovers from the other night. “Yeah, you do. Last week, when he sat in our lesson, he’s all you talked about for the rest of the day.”

Lance doesn’t actually have an answer for that and thank god Hunk’s back is facing him because otherwise he’d know just how flustered he currently is. Hunk just continues on, unaware of the mess Lance is slowly becoming behind him.

“Even Shiro noticed, and we all know how dense _he_ is.” Hunk deposits the leftovers on the counter and turns to face him fully. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were -”

 _-please don’t say it, please don’t say it,_ please _don’t say it._

“- jealous”.

 _Oh thank g-_ _Wait. What?_

“Jealous?” Lance sits up, then, and gapes openly at Hunk. “You’re kidding me, right?”

Hunk shrugs. “I think you’re scared of the competition, honestly.”

“ _Competition?”_ Lance barely holds back a bark of laughter. “Hunk, _really?_ He can barely jump an inch of the ice!”

“See you _say_ that, but anyone can see that he’s already improving. And, on top of that, he’s already got natural skill and athleticism.” Hunk grabs a fork from a nearby cabinet and jabs it in Lance’s direction. “He’s gonna be good. I know it.”

Lance stares, disbelievingly at him. “Dude, I think you’ve taken one too many falls on the ice.”

“Whatever,” Hunk pushes off from the counter towards the front door. “Just you wait - I’m usually right about these things.”

“About what?” Lance jumps off the couch and follows him.

“People.” He stops in the door frame and stares at Lance with sincerity in his eyes. It only lasts a few seconds, briefly throwing Lance off, before he’s continuing on with a wave of his hand. “Anyways, I’m off to Shay’s for a fitting so I’ll be back later.”

Lance blinks twice, brushing off whatever moment just happened, and hops towards him. “Oh no you don’t! I’m coming with you.”

“What?” Hunk, already in the hallway, falters as Lance falls in step beside him. “I didn’t think you had any fittings coming up?”

“I don’t.” Lance tugs the door shut and grins up at his roommate. “But I will never give up the opportunity to see you turn into mush in front of Shay. Let’s go.”

 

Hunk, after finally accepting that he could _in no way_ make Lance stay home, leads them up to Shay’s apartment and doesn’t even stop to knock before he enters. Lance wags his eyebrows at him, just about to comment on the forwardness of Hunk’s behaviour, when Hunk whacks him on the back of the head and calls out into the seemingly empty apartment.

“Shay?” He kicks off his shoes at the front door and takes a few steps further into the main room. “It’s Hunk!”

No verbal response comes but Lance hears a soft _tap tap tap_ that slowly grows in volume. Lance can’t see past the mountain of Hunk in front of him, but he hears a soft chirp at the same time that Hunk spots something a few feet ahead of him.

“Sugar!” He outright _coos_ while bending down towards the ground. “If it isn’t my favourite little girl”

Lance, now that Hunk has ducked out of the way, can see the meowing calico cat weaving its way to Hunk with the most excited look on her face. Behind her, two more cats have appeared and are following her lead. The leader of the bunch catches sight of Lance and he _swears_ he sees her scowl at him. Lance reciprocates the look and juts out his tongue in addition. She doesn’t pause, though, just continues towards Hunk’s outstretched hand and accepts his attention with delight.

“Ah,” Lance crosses his arms over his chest and continues to glare at the feline. “I see Shay hasn’t thrown this _devil cat_ to the curb yet.”

“Oh shush,” Hunk says, scooping the her into his arms and planting a kiss on top of her head. She purrs contently and leans into it, like she _isn’t_ made of pure evil. “You only hate her because, for once, someone wasn’t won over by your charms.”

“No,” Lance narrows his eyes even more. “I hate her because she is the _devil_.”

Hunk ignores him, now addressing the other two cats rubbing on and through his legs. “Hey, girlies! How are my pretty ladies doing, today?” He leans down to pat both of them on the head. The long-haired black one, ironically named Marshmallow, is purring so loudly Lance worries she might explode. Meanwhile, Dumpling - in all her chubby glory - is practically body checking Hunk’s leg to gain his attention, smearing his pants with gray fur with every swipe. Hunk scratches them a few times before righting himself and repositioning Sugar in his arms. Obviously unsatisfied with the attention they’re being offered, they turn their pointed gazes towards Lance.

“You two like me,” he crouches down and extends his hand. “Right?”

Their angular eyes dart over his face for only a few seconds before they turn away and stroll across the room, tails flitting from side to side.

“Every _time_!” Lance gestures towards the receding pair. “See, they hate me, too!”

“Lance,” Sugar Cookie has perched herself on one of Hunk’s wide shoulders, sneering down at Lance while Hunk talks. “They don’t hate you.”

“Then why don’t they ever let me see them?”

“Sugar is kind of the boss of the house,” Hunk shrugs and she bounces with the movement. “If she doesn’t like you, they won’t even bother.”

“This sounds like a dictatorship and I don’t like it.” Lance huffs.

“Oh whatever,” Hunk starts off towards the other two. “You’re just jealous.”

“ _That_ \-- is a very false statement.”

Hunk ignores him once more and addresses the still-purring pair of cats on the ground. “Is Shay here?” They perk up at the sound of their owners name, chirping up at Hunk with bright eyes. “Alright Ladies, where’s your Mom? Is she over here?” Hunk takes a few steps towards a small hallway and they follow, hot on his heels.

“You know,” Lance shoves his hands in his pockets and wades after him. “They can’t _actually_ answer you.”

Turning into the hallway, Lance notices the whirring of a machine coming from behind one of the doors. Light emanates out from underneath it and Lance swears he can hears soft humming drift out alongside the noise. The cats have pressed their noses to the crack of the door, peering intently at whatever shadows they see, as Hunk presses a hand to the door knob and pushes it open gently. The whirring grows in volume and so does the melodic humming. The cats dart into the room before either of them can and Lance watches one jump onto a bed pressed against the wall while the other pads towards the other side of the room. The walls, painted a dull yellow, are adorned with framed photos (in which Lance spots himself a few times) and two large diplomas center stage above the bed. Across the room, where Dumpling has dropped herself, is Shay, hunched over in front of a sewing machine as she feeds sparkling fabric under the needle. Large headphones adorn her head and she bobs her head along to the unheard beat, humming softly to herself.

“Shay - hey!” Hunk calls out to her but she doesn’t react, the music apparently too loud. Hunk deposits Sugar down on the bed before walking up behind Shay, lifting one side of the headphones from her ear and repeating himself. “Shay?”

“ _Ah!”_ Shay jumps at that, leading the fabric askew in her machine which stutters to a halt with an angry lurch. “Oh! Oh my! Oh no -” She winds a dial on the right side of the machine and starts to pull the fabric from the jam. It’s stubborn, though, fighting her delicate and fast moving fingers, and makes a few terrifying ripping sounds. After a few seconds of tugging, it does come free, crumpled and crooked, and she sighs with relief. Clutching it to her chest, she turns in her seat to look up at Hunk who - honestly - looks like he might die.

“Oh. My. God.” He runs one hand through his hair and waves the other in front of him, flustered. “I didn’t mean to scare you - did - is it ruined?”

Shay, although still somewhat recovering from the scare, dismisses his corners. “Do not worry, Hunk. It is fine - the garment may need some reconstructing, but it is nothing too terrible.”

“Are you sure?” Hunk almost looks sick to his stomach. “Cause I will pay for whatever you need to fix it - I promise.”

“Hunk,” she pats him on the arm and smiles warmly up at him. “It is fine.”

Hunk lets out a huge breath, seemingly shrinking ten inches with the hunch of his shoulders. Shay giggles quietly in response, then - suddenly - seems to notice that Hunk is not the only newcomer to the room and turns fully in her chair to face Lance.

“Oh!” She smiles politely. “Lance - I didn’t know you were coming! I only just started designing your next outfit so your fitting isn’t for a little while…”

“Oh, no,” Lance holds his hands up in front of him. “I’m not here for that. Just came to say hi.”

He sees Hunk shoot him a look but he ignores it, instead listening to Shay ramble on, pleasantly. “Oh - well!” She places the (probably ruined) garment on the table and switches off the sewing machine before pushing out of her chair. “I may have some snacks somewhere -”

“No, no, that’s why I brought this - ” Hunk pulls the leftovers from the bag slung over his shoulder and shakes his head. “You don’t have to be a hostess for us, Shay.”

“Are you certain? Because I truly don’t mind.” She takes a step forward and nearly faceplants, her foot getting caught on the round blob of cat parked behind her chair. “Dumpling! You can not keep sleeping where people walk! It is dangerous!” She scolds it but she barely even reacts, just rolls onto her back to air out her stomach. Shay scoffs as she steps over it carefully. “These cats think they own this house most of the time.”

Lance glances over at her bed where Sugar and Marshmallow are lounging. “What? You’re saying they don’t?”

“I suppose not.” Shay presses a hand to both of them as she passes and they purr happily up at her. “Was Sugar Cookie nice to you today, Lance?”

Lance rolls his eyes. “When is she ever?” The cat fixes him with a look, like she knows what he’s saying, and he glares back.

“I do not understand her dislike of you…” Shay tucks her hair behind her ears and frowns down at the calico. “You are a perfectly nice person and have never shown any animosity towards her… It does not make sense.”

“Exactly!” Lance props his hands up on his hips and shoots Shay with a grin. “Shay, have I ever told you how much I like you?”

“Lance! You are too kind!” Shay blushes, ducking her head in embarrassment, and simply waves for the other two to follow as she leaves the room in a hurry. Hunk just rolls his eyes at Lance, falling into step behind Shay, and the cats tag along behind him. Sugar flicks her tail when she passes Lances and takes her place as the leader of the group, right on Shay’s ankles. Lance ducks out of the door and strolls down the hallway after them as he listens to Shay talk.

“Your costume - ” she looks back at Hunk briefly, leading them into the main room once more. “ - may need some alterations. It is quite structured, particularly around the shoulders, so it may lay different on you than on the body form.” She picks up a garment bag that is laid across her couch and hands it to him.

“I’m sure it’s fine, Shay.” Hunk pulls down the zipper on the bag as he talks. “I’ve never needed any serious alterations before and I doubt that will start now.”

“Yes, well,” Shay folds her hands together in front of her. “I’ve never had to make such a specifically structured garment for you before now.” Hunk is peering inside the bag and she gestures towards it. “The pants, I’m certain, will fit and the undershirt will as well. I am more concerned about the jacket.”

“We have several weeks before the competition.” Hunk slings the bag over his shoulder and takes a few steps back towards the hallway they just came from. “Even if something needs fixing, you’ve got lots of time. I’ll try it on and let you know.” With that, he ducks into the hallway and disappears with a click of a door.

Shay blows her bangs back from her eyes and gingerly sits down on the couch, immediately followed by Sugar and Marshmallow. Dumpling, true to character and obviously not caring about the lecture she just received from her owner, plops down right in front of Shay’s feet.

Lance leans against the arm of the couch and offers Marshmallow his hand, one final attempt at friendship, but she barely sniffs it before turning away to lean into Shay’s thigh. Lance huffs and cross his arms.

“So,” he begins, tilting his head towards Shay. “Why is this one outfit more difficult?”

“It’s not necessarily more difficult,” she begins. “But, rather, it is very particular in how it is built and requires more attention than the other pieces. I made specific shoulder pads for it and lined the entire suit with thick interfacing so it will keep its shape. Also much of the details on the chest and collar were hand stitched.” She huffs out a breath. “It was rather time consuming.”

“Sometimes I forget that you’re just as busy as we are,” Lance appraises her with a raised eyebrow. “And, I guess, you still have to make Pidge’s outfit -”

“Oh no,” she shakes her head at him. “Pidge already came for their fitting. I’ve had their costume done for a few days now. My main focus recently has been Hunk’s outfit, seeing as their competition is rapidly approaching and I need to save time for alterations.”

“I would have thought you’d know Hunk’s size by now, _especially_ considering how much time you spend together.” Lance comments but his implication flies over her head, seeing as she continues on chatting.

“I don’t usually have any problems but, again, this garment has been a source of stress for me. I really do hope it fits properly... ” The click of a door catches her attention then and she leans forward to watch Hunk walk back into the room, looking down at the jacket he’s wearing.

“The pants were perfect,” he starts, tugging at the hem of the undershirt to straighten it out. “And, honestly, Shay - this looks awesome! I don’t know why you were so worried.”

And he’s right: the jacket fits him like a glove. The shoulders of it are pointed and shaped to highlight how broad he is and then tapered in at his waist for a flattering contrast of shape. Lance spots embroidery, dark gold against the orange of the jacket fabric, and the flair of his cream coloured undershirt collar. The whole ensemble is not only well constructed but also beautifully designed. Figure skating outfits were all about making a statement and Shay never missed that mark.

“Hmmm,” she stands up and approaches Hunk, eyes squinting at the details of her work. “I do not know if I agree… Perhaps if this part was taken in slightly -” She reaches towards the sides of his waist but he shoos her hands away.

“Nope.” He says with a shake of his head. “Not this time. You are changing nothing about this jacket.”

“I simply want to -” She grabs from him again but he ducks away, arms held above his head.

“Shay I am telling you: It’s perfect.” He fixes her with a look. “Let it go.”

It seems Lance has the same thought as Shay, seeing as they both roll their eyes before she reaches up and tugs his arms back down with ease.

“That does not work when we are the same height, Hunk.” She smirks at him. “At least give me the opportunity to _look_ at it, please.” Hunk doesn’t fight back this time as she straightens out the garment and examines its fit. She pulls at the fabric on his waist, tightening it by about an inch, and asks him to lift his arms. He obeys and she purses his lips, watching how the fabric moves. She lets go with a huff and steps back. “Although I would still like to take in the sides, I will leave it alone. I worry it would be too tight during performances.”

Lance snorts, remembering how Hunk’s shirt had split down the side during one of his more difficult lifts. “Yeah, we don’t want a repeat of last year’s Nationals performance.”

“Thankfully that happened towards the _end_ of the routine.” Hunk laughs.

“I don’t know,” Shay shrugs. “I did not mind it so much.”

As soon as the words have left her mouth, she stalls. Lance can practically see the realization that _yup, she really did say that_ hit her and her face goes scarlet red. She shields her eyes with her hands as the blush creeps up to her ears. Hunk looks floored, blinking dumbly at her.

“You -” Lance’s face adopts into a shit-eating grin. “- didn’t mean to say that out loud, did you?”

She shakes her head mutely, still covering her face.

Lance (just barely) stops himself from laughing at the flustered mess the two of them have become and, instead, scoops the leftovers from Hunk’s deposited bag, popping the lid open with a smirk. He shoves a forkful of the cold pasta into his mouth and takes his time chewing it, letting them stew in their embarrassment for a few seconds longer, before he says anything.

“Well,” He hums with a wave of his fork. “If _I_ were you, Shay, I would be purposefully making his outfits just _a little_ tighter. Don’t you think?”

Shay looks like wants to melt in the floor, stammering out some barely coherent words, and Hunk looks like he doesn’t know how to feel. Currently, he’s caught somewhere between flattery and mortification. Lance wonders which will win and couldn’t actually tell you which he’s rooting for. Neither of them can look at each other, let alone someone else, so they sit in awkward silence until one of them finally breaks it.

Hunk clears his throat, tries to compose himself, and jabs his thumb over his shoulder. “I’m - uh - gonna go get changed.”

“You sure you don’t want to do that here?” Lance quips. “‘Cause I don’t think Shay really minds all that much.”

Both of them blush even harder and Hunk all but sprints for the bathroom, the slamming of the door saving him from any further torment. Shay, looking absolutely anywhere _but_ Lance, sits delicately down on the couch. The cats reclaim their spots on and around her while she continues to stare pointedly at her folded hands in her lap. Lance helps himself to another mouthful of food and chews while he examines the side of her face. A few times she peeks over at him but quickly looks away when she catches him watching. Lance only lets her suffer a little longer before he reaches over and pats her on the shoulder.

“One day you will laugh about this,” he meets her eye when she glances over, face still pink. “But I can promise you: it will not be on your wedding day when I recount this tale to everyone there.”

She drops her face into her hands once more, with a squeak of horror just as Hunk appears from around the corner, scowl directed towards Lance.

“That is _so_ not happening,” Hunk lays the garment bag back over a nearby chair before turning back to the two of them and folds his arms over his chest.

“Which?” Lance tilts his head, raising an eyebrow at his friend. “The wedding or the recounting?”

Now it’s Hunk’s turn to stammer as he tries to decide what the right answer to that question is, eyes darting between Lance and Shay beside him. He manages to start a few sentences but cuts himself off every time with flailing hands.

Lance snorts, pushing himself off the couch, leftovers still in hand. He passes by Hunk and flashes him with a bright smile before stopping at the doorway to wave goodbye.

“Well, I really better get going!” He slips on his ratty sneakers with one hand then grabs ahold of the doorknob, catching sight of Shay’s conflicted expression. “It was nice seeing you again, Shay. And, _really_ , the outfit looks great - you’ve outdone yourself this time.” With one last smile, he pulls the door shut behind him and heads back home as he snickers to himself.

* * *

 

“I’m not paying for your coffee today,” Hunk says as they step through the doors and into the shop.

“Awww, are you still sour about yesterday?” Lance pouts at him. “Come on, dude, I’m sure you were at least _a little_ happy to hear that Shay checks you out when you’re not looking.”

“I -” Hunk starts again. “- am not paying for your coffee today.”

Lance rolls his eyes with a sigh. “Well, _fine_. But I did you a favour yesterday and you know it. I bet the two of you stayed up late last night talking about weddings.”

Hunk turns his face away to hide his reaction but Lance knows he’s right. Lance approaches the counter, pulling out his wallet as he goes, and is greeted with a bright smile by Kale, same round glasses perched on his nose.

“Hey Lance!” He props a hand on his hip as he nods at him. “You’re pretty early today, eh?”

“Yeah, well,” Lance shrugs and gestures back at Hunk. “I’ve got a chauffeur today so I don’t have to rely on the perpetually late subway system to get me to practice.”

Hunk laughs behind him. “I don’t think the subway is the reason you’re always late, Lance.”

Kale offers Hunk that same glowing smile. “Haven’t seen you in a while, Hunk! How have you been doing?”

“I’m doing great, thanks.” Hunk leans on the counter as he talks. “We’re gearing up for a competition right now so I’m pretty busy but I guess busy is good.”

“If you enjoy it, busy is great.” Kale nods and blinks back over at Lance. “So: the usual?”

“You know me so well,” Lance smiles as Kale punches a few things into the computer then gestures towards the debit machine on the counter. It beeps happily when Lance presses his card to it and spits out a receipt.

Kale tears it away and skewers it on a nearby peg. “How about you, Hunk? Can I get you anything?”

“Nah, I’m good.” Hank holds up a hand, politely. “I’ve got a thermos in the car. Thanks, though.”

“No worries.” And with that, he steps away from the counter, grabbing an empty cup as he goes. “So, Lance, last time you were talking about a new student of yours -” Lance definitely _does not_ miss the pointed look from Hunk but he sure does act like it. “- how’s that going? Has he improved at all?”

Lance shrugs. “A little? He’s not good by any means but I guess he’s gotten a bit better. He can make it through a whole lesson without wiping out, if that counts?”

“That’s certainly something!” Kale presses a button on the espresso machine and blows his floppy, blonde hair from his eyes. “You can’t expect him to be perfect after - what, two lessons? I don’t think I’d be able to even _stand_ on the ice let alone skate.”

“You aren’t a skater, though.” Lance leans on the counter, watching the espresso pour into the cup. “This guy’s an ace hockey player. At least he’s _supposed_ to be. Sometimes I think Shiro made the whole thing up just to mess with me.”

Kale laughs and pours hot milk into the drink before moving to different station. He pumps several squirts of syrup into his cup before passing it off to Lance with a smile. “I guess you’ll just have to go to one of his games to find out.”

“Somehow I don’t see that happening.” Lance practically bounces at the sight of it, grabbing the cup from him and inhaling in the sweet scent.  
Kale just shrugs and offers his hand up in a wave. “Well, I’ll guess I’ll be seeing you! It was nice talking to you again, Hunk. Good luck in the competition!”

“Thanks, man.” Hunk salutes him with two fingers and heads off towards the door.

Lance, with a flick of his wrist, mock bows. “Until next time.”

“Sooooo, tomorrow morning?” Kale raises his eyebrow with a smirk.

Lance nods. “Tomorrow morning.”

Kale laughs as he wipes his hands on a nearby cloth. “Until tomorrow, then.”

The door swings shuts behind them and, just as they reach the car, Hunk tilts his head at Lance.

“Wasn’t I _just_ saying that you talk about Keith a lot?” He leans on the hood of the car, eyes narrowed.

Lance scoffs and lifts his cup to his lips to mumble into the lid. “I need to complain to _someone_ about him.” He swings himself into the passenger seat before taking a swig.

Hunk sighs and plops down into the seat with a huff. “And yet I seem to remember you complaining to _all of us. All day long_.” He closes the door and starts the ignition, the engine wheezing to life.

“I don’t know why you’re so fixated on this,” Lance sinks lower into seat, bringing his knees up to his chest and resting his coffee under his chin.

“Well, I don’t know why you’re so fixated on _him_.” Hunk places a hand on the back of Lance’s seat and backs them out of their parking spot. Lance stares at the side of his face, incredulously. Hunk catches a glimpse of his look as he veers them onto the main road once more. “I’m serious, dude. I haven’t seen you so worked up by someone since -”

Seeing where this is going, Lance holds up a hand. “Don’t.” His attitude immediately shifts, souring in an instant, and he moves to sucks back another mouthful of sugary coffee. It doesn’t help. He blinks out the window, knowing full well that Hunk is shooting him worried looks. “Just don’t.”

“Lance…” Lance can practically hear his grip on the steering wheel grow tighter. “I didn’t mean to make you upset. I’m just saying -” He pauses and Lance watches the passing world slow down, coming to a complete stop at a red light. A man in a red truck next to them taps along to his radio, mouths moving around the unheard words. Hunk continues, move a little quieter. “It’s been nice seeing you excited to go to practice again.”

“I’m always excited to skate.” Lance shoots back.

“Not like this.” The car starts moving again, curving into a wide turn through the intersection and the man in the truck disappears out of sight. “I know you, Lance. I spend nearly every day with you and trust me when I say this: this is different. Even if you don’t realize it.”

Lance doesn’t answer him, sinking lower into his seat until his knees are almost covering his entire face.

Hunk sighs once more. “I don’t know what it means - what it is that’s changed but…” The rink slowly comes into view as he trails off for a few seconds, thinking. “I’m just - I’m happy… seeing you like this. I’m glad.”

The car grinds to a halt in one of the front parking spots and Lance feels his body glide along with the movement. Both Shiro and Allura’s cars parked a few spots over, expensive-looking in comparison to Hunk’s mess of a vehicle. Hunk removes the keys from the ignition and Lance feels a hand drop to his shoulder followed by the sound of Hunk turning in his seat to look at him. Lance keeps his eyes forward, fixed on the drops of coffee on the plastic lid.

“Lance.” Hunk squeezes his shoulder softly but Lance doesn’t budge. “ _Dude._ ” Another squeeze. Lance caves and tilts his head just enough to make eye contact with Hunk. He stares down at him, smile on his lips and eyes gentle. “We good?”

Lance looks between his eyes, searching within himself for some trace of annoyance to hold onto, but he knows it’s futile. There’s no hope in staying upset, not when Hunk is looking at him so earnestly, so openly. He never has any ulterior motives to what he says - he just means it and genuinely _cares_ about the people he says it to. Lance purses his lips and sighs through nose, raising his fist to extend it out towards Hunk.

“We’re good.”

Hunk’s smile brightens as he removes his hand from his shoulder and taps it against Lance’s.

“Well, then,” he reaches into the backseat for their bags. “We’ve got practice to get to.”

* * *

The following weeks are hectic.

Pidge and Hunk are at the rink all day, every day, either running through their routines or nitpicking specific parts. They have several meetings with Matt to work through the music for both their short and free programs, taking up the tech room for hours on end. Lance is asked many times (after the rink is closed) to help them work through sections of their routines, resulting in all three of them being exhausted for the following day’s group practices.

During rehearsals, they are excited, albeit a little nervous, for the approaching Nationals, but at home it’s a different story. Lance is constantly being hounded by a jittery Hunk who can’t go ten seconds without bringing up the competition, routine or his technique. And the closer it got, the more nervous he became. One night he was particularly anxious, waking Lance up at two in the morning by running through routines in the living room, music and all. Honestly, it was getting unbearable, especially after a long day at the rink, so Lance began suggesting he visit Shay for the day. He had told him it was to get his mind off the competition, but really Lance just wanted to sleep in peace. It didn’t always work, though. Sometimes Hunk would come back _very early_ in the morning just as anxious as before and wake Lance up to talk. Once, Lance was so tired he forgot to tame his bedhead before leaving the house and was tormented by Pidge all day because of it.

In short: his coffee order is a little stronger lately.

 

Keith visits the rink a few times throughout the weeks, too. Although, his coach is freaking out over _their_ Provincial Championships which means he’s often caught up in his own practices so he can never stay at the arena for long. Lance tries to pretend that he doesn’t miss seeing him in the rafters or around the arena throughout the day but even Shiro notices the extra jump in step when a certain grumpy skater is visiting. The only time that Lance can count on seeing him is Wednesdays for the Tadpole lessons. They’ve grown into an easy routine on those days: Keith always shows up early, almost as early as Shiro and Allura, and doesn’t even bother joining the rest of the group anymore. He just skates over to the far side of the rink with Lance, hair pulled back from his face which looks more bright, more open with every passing week. Although it’s possible Lance is just imagining this. He likes to pretend it’s true, at least.

And he’s improving. _Really_ improving. Keith often times stays after the lessons while the ice is still empty to keep practicing and will even join in when he comes to visit, skates always tucked away in his bag just in case. He’s persistent and it’s starting to pay off. Although being a little shaky through some of the more difficult moves, he has managed to power through the entire starter Tadpole requirements, catching up with the rest of the group by week three. Even when he’s just _skating_ , he’s so much more fluid and comfortable on the ice. Especially when compared to how he was that first week.

Tia is still leagues ahead of him, though. In his defense, she is also leagues ahead of the rest of the class and could easily be moved into the next level. Shiro told her so much but she insists on staying in the class “with Keith” (which she usually punctuates by grabbing onto his sleeve or hand with a smile). Lance has never pegged Keith as a kid person. His apathy and mildly grumpiness never screamed “ _I love kids!”_ to him. And Lance wouldn’t even go so far as to say Keith _loves_ kids, more so that they love him. Tia started introducing the rest of the class to her new found friend and they all gravitated towards him (despite his best attempts to keep them at bay) which lead to about ten minutes of chatting between all of them after each lesson. There had been several offers for Keith to “come over to play” but he turned down each of them as politely as he could to avoid any and all crocodiles tears.

Often times, while Lance was cooling down off the ice, he’d hear the parents chatting about their kids and their progress. Occasionally they’d talk about “the older boy”, which would peek Lance’s interest and he’d scoot further down on the rafter to eavesdrop on their gossip. One of the fathers of the group had talked about Keith’s lack of skill many times and (even if it was somewhat true) it had made Lance’s eyes twitch. Many times, Lance had held himself back from saying something but this man just _wouldn’t shut up._

“I don’t know why this boy is even _here_.” He said after criticizing Keith as he skated around with the kids. “He lacks coordination, skill, and grace. This isn’t exactly the sport for him.”

Lance was going to say something then, completely done with Snooty McSnootpants’ bullshit, but Tia’s mother beat him to the punch. Her curly ‘fro of hair was perfectly coiffed around her face as she fixed her narrowed gaze on him and interjected. “I’m sorry, Mr….?”

“MacLellan.”

“MacLellan.” She repeated. “You spend all your time judging what he’s doing and how he’s doing it but I just wonder -” she pauses, looking him up and down, slowly. “- can you skate?”

“Well -” he stalled, lips stretching into a tight line. “Not very well no. But my Melissa is quite th -”

“Then I think you should leave the critiques to the coach.” She had raised her brows at him and gestured out towards Keith who was still chatting with the kids. “I don’t think it’s fair to criticize him for trying to learn a new skill when you’re sitting in the stands watching. He is obviously working hard to improve and wants this very badly.” Lance thinks she’s done then, but she continues after a few seconds of silence. “And, honestly, no matter how bad of a skater he is, he could probably skate circles around your ugly toupee.”

Snootpants reached up to touch his hair, mouth agape, and was about to continue when she held up a hand to stop him, not even bothering to say anything before simply walking away. She collected Tia from the group, large tote bag hoisted high on her shoulder, and gave Keith a smile as she left. Lance watched her the whole time, as did most of the other parents.

She was simultaneously incredibly impressive and mildly terrifying.

 

Keith never heard any of what they said, though. Lance wasn’t even sure how he would have reacted - whether he would have been confrontational or just let it go without caring - but he didn’t really want to find out. Keith was stubborn, argumentative, and sometimes exhausting but he didn’t deserve to hear shit like that. Lance has heard things like that about himself after _years_ of figure skating and it sucked then. A new skater giving their all at every lesson definitely didn’t need to hear some asshole’s criticisms.

Everyone knows that Lance is the last person to compliment Keith’s skating but he knew that Snooty was wrong. Sure, Keith wasn’t a pro skater, but he definitely wasn’t the tripping and fumbling mess that he used to be. He was _actually_ pretty decent now which genuinely floored Lance sometimes. It was, no doubt, thanks to the hours of work he put into his skating that none of them actually saw.

One night Lance (already half way home) had realized he forgot his cell up in the tech room. When he went up to retrieve it, the rink had still been lit despite the arena being _technically_ closed for the day. Confused, he peered through the window to where two figures moved around the ice in slow circles. One was Shiro, skating backwards just a few feet ahead, while Keith followed with his arm stretched out beside him. He had thought it was strange that they were there so late but shook it off and returned home. A few days after that, after the fourth Tadpole lesson, Lance was talking Keith through proper technique for a new move while they cooled down. Keith was nodding along, intently listening to whatever Lance said, as he worked at the laces on his skates. Keith’s sock had slipped off with the boot to reveal a series of open wounds along his heel and sole. Lance’s words had stalled and he had fixed Keith was a questioning look, but Keith had brushed it off, saying that it wasn’t a big deal, that he had just bought new hockey skates and was still breaking them in. Lance wasn’t convinced. Was even less convinced when he stayed late one evening and spotted Keith and Shiro on the rink once more, going over the same moves over and over and over again until Keith looked like he was going to fall face first onto the ice.

Sometimes Lance wondered why he was working so hard, why these silly beginner lessons mattered so much. But he never looked for answers - Keith wouldn’t give them to him even if he asked, so there was no point.

Although it dawns on him, as he enters the arena for the fifth week of tadpole lessons, that Keith’s work, very soon, won’t really matter. The lessons are done next week and then what? He goes back to hockey and never figure skates again? The countless hours of practicing he put into it wouldn’t mean anything come next week.

Despite all of this, he is still there, skating smooth loops of the rink, when Lance arrives Wednesday morning. There are no hints of nervousness in his movements, no more jagged and wobbly skating from Keith. He moves so easily - so _comfortably_ \- across the ice now. Lance could go so far as to describe him as graceful but he’d never say it out loud.

He tugs his skates onto his feet before easing onto the ice to stretch against the boards. At this point, the rink is being quickly filled by excited kids and their parents, voices growing by the second. As Lance pulls one of his knees to his chest he spots Snootpants stroll towards the rafters a few feet away from the rest of the parents, his face pinched tight and nose held high. He’s staring, eyes narrowed, at the ice. Lance follows his gaze to Keith who is being guided across one end of the ice by her, tiny hand gripping his index finger as they glide. The sight is, frankly, hilariously cute but it’s soured by Snooty’s judgment. Lance knows he shouldn’t get involved (he can practically hear Shiro scolding him already) but, honestly, he’s just so done watching this pompous asshole leer at them on the ice. He can’t hold himself back anymore.

So, waving a hand over his head, he yells over to Keith.

It takes a Keith a few smiles and some (probably reluctant) promises to skate later, to get Tia to relinquish her hold on him and join the now growing herd of children on the ice. With a shake of his head, Keith makes his way over to Lance’s side, greeting him with a raised eyebrow.

“What’s up?” He slides to a stop (and doesn’t even need to grab onto the boards to keep himself up).

“You know,” Lance glances subtly towards Snooty, perched in the second row,  to make sure that he’s, _yup_ , still glaring at Keith. He leans against the boards, arms crossed, and continues. “You’re looking pretty good out there.”

Keith stalls. The hand he had lifted to swipe through his hair freezes along with the rest of him. “U-Uh,” he stammers.

“But,” Lance gestures towards Keith’s feet and shrugs. “You gotta make sure to clean your blades occasionally. It’ll help them move smoother across the ice.”

Keith blinks at him, slowly, his mouth parted like he doesn’t quite understand the words coming from his mouth. “Clean… my blades…?” Lance can practically see the gears slowly starting up again in Keith’s brain.  

“Yeah,” Lance lifts one of his feet, wipes the shaved ice from his blade, and lifts his hand to show it to Keith the small pile of snow he’s collected. “The ice gathers on your blade while you skate.” And then, making very blatant eye contact with the shitstain in the second row, he flicks the sticky snow in his direction.

Most of it lands on the seats in front of him, but one _glorious_ clump splats against his cheek. It slowly melts, water dripping down his face while they stare at each other. Lance refuses to look away, refuses to back down, and just stares, expression flat. Finally, Snooty wipes what’s left of it from his face with a swipe of his thumb and progressively grows redder in the face, eyes narrowed under his furrowed brow.

“Uhm,” Keith mutters, eyes darting between the two men having a stare off. “Lance?”

“Get that useless shit -” Lance pauses and tilts his head to the side, challengingly. “-out of here.”

Several beats of silence pass as they stare on and Keith seems to be desperately trying to understand the situation. Eventually, the sorry excuse of a human being glaring back at him reaches for the coat beside him and begins angrily putting it on.

“Lance.” Keith repeats, a hand reaching out to wave in front of Lance’s face.

Lance brushes his hand away, giving Snoot a few more seconds of his attention before turning back to Keith, who looks bewildered and confused. “I’m serious, though.” He pulls one arm across his chest, giving it a few tugs as he continues his stretching like nothing happened. “You really _have_ improved a lot.”

“Uh, thanks, but,” Keith watches the man stands up and slowly weave down to the other side of the rink. “What was that?”

Lance swaps arms. “What was what?”

“That!” Keith gestures in the general direction of Snooty’s angry back. “The hostile stare down you just had with that stranger!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Keith.”

 _“You threw snow at him_!”

“I was cleaning my blade.”

Keith rolls his eyes at him, obviously not convinced, but before he can continue his interrogation, Shiro calls for their attention.

“Alright, kids!” He calls out. “Let’s get started!” Lance pushes off towards the opposite end of the rink like he usuall does but Shiro calls out to him again. “Keith! Lance! I have something to say so just hang around for a few minutes longer!”

A small squeal erupts from the congregation of children. “Keith!” Tia waves her hand animatedly above her head, gesturing for him to join her. A few of the other children do the same and Keith sighs heavily before making his way over, leaving Lance to follow a few paces behind. As soon as they’re within range, Tia glues herself to Keith’s side (as do two other kids) and she jumps excitedly. Lance covers up a hiccuping giggle at his disgruntled expression but Keith catches it and shoots him an angry glare.

“So,” Shiro begins. “Everyone has been doing so well during lessons and I couldn’t be more proud of the progress you’ve all made.” Lance eases to a stop off to the side, observing Shiro shift into ‘serious but approachable coach’ mode while he observes the class. “I’ve been talking with Ms. Allura and we both think you’re all ready for the next step.” He pauses as the kids perk up. “A jump.”

Keith looks like he might die but the rest of the group are whispering amongst each other, eyes wide. Shiro holds his hands up and shushes them gently.

“Alright, alright. Don’t get _too_ excited!” He places his hands on his hips and waits for them to settle down. “Our main focus today will be the Waltz Jump. We will start with some basic warm-ups and then I’ll walk everyone through the steps so you can all practice. And, just so you know, I think you are _all_ -” He pauses, fixing the group with a warm smile.  “- ready for this. After all, you won’t be tadpoles for much longer. It’s about time you learn how to hop. So, let’s get going.”

The level of cringe associated with Shiro at this moment is painfully high and Lance wants nothing more than to get as far away from him as possible. It seems that Keith feels similarly, pushing away from the group with a roll of his eyes, as Shiro leads them in the opposite direction.

“Why is my brother such a loser?” Keith sighs as they make their way side by side down the rink.

“Hey, now,” Lance just shrugs. “He’s _your_ brother. You of all people should know that answer to that.”

Keith starts collecting his hair at the nape of his neck, elastic peeking out from under his sleeve, and shakes his head. “I’m just glad I didn’t inherit that trait.”

“Weeeeeell,” Lance cocks his head to the side with a smirk.

“Oh fuck off,” Keith drops his hands, hair now securely tied back,  and bumps Lance with his shoulder. “I’m not the one making stupid dad jokes.”

Lance spins to a stop and Keith follows, although with slightly less flair, and Lance can’t help but smile at his half-hearted scowl. “You mean, you’re _not_ ready to start hopping?”

Keith doesn’t grace him with answer. Instead, he reaches down to swipe his fingers across his blade and, completely deadpanned, flick ice in Lance’s face.

They stare at each other for a few seconds, Lance unimpressed and Keith stoic. A smile just barely breaks through Keith’s steeled composure and Lance has to really concentrate on not getting swept away by it.

He manages. Somehow.

“Well,” a clump slides down from Lance’s eyebrow, coating his eyelashes with dewy droplets. “ _That_ was rude.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Keith shrugs as he digs his hands into his pockets.

Lance squints at him. “Oh no, that’s _my_ move. You’re not allowed to steal it.”

“What? I was just cleaning my blade.” The barely-there smile blooms and Keith has to bite his lip to smother it once more. Lance is starting to worry his heart might actually stop right here, right now, if he doesn’t look away _right now_.

_Lance, for fuck’s sake. We are not doing this again._

“Yeah, whatever,” Lance waves him off, trying to settle the bubbles in his chest, and props one hand on his hip. “Let’s get started on these waltz jumps.”

“Uuuggh,” Keith’s smile disappears, replaced quickly by a frown as he throws his head back.

“No, no,” Lance pushes away from him, then. “None of that. Waltz jump is the easiest jump there is. If you can’t do this, you can kiss your triple axel goodbye.”

Keith follows him, head hung defeatedly. “I’m just worried I’ll end up cracking my head open on the ice.”

“That _is_ a possibility.” Keith’s scowl increases at that. “Oh, come on. With a teacher like me, what could go wrong?”

 

A lot, apparently.

Well, he didn’t crack his head open on the ice, but he _did_ wipe out a lot.

This isn’t shocking, honestly. Most people fall a lot when they start learning jumps. It’s aggravating no matter who you are. But, if Keith’s expression is any indicator, it’s really starting to get to him. At the beginning, he was sporting his usual pout/nose crinkle, but now, he’s scowling so hard Lance is worried the expression will never leave his face.

After a considerable amount of time and an almost impressive collection of falls, Shiro waves them all over once more. Keith has managed to “land” one wobbly jump, catching himself with his hand so he didn’t go toppling over, but that was about it. Lance isn’t sure if the rest of the class had anymore success, but the kids look like they’re about to collapse on the ice. Keith, honestly, doesn’t look much different, even wincing a bit with the occasional step.

Once they’re all crowded together, Shiro beams brightly, hands folded over his chest. “I have one more announcement before you all leave for the day.” Shiro pauses, Lance assumes for dramatic effect, before continuing on. “Miss Allura and I have choreographed a short routine for you all to perform for the end of these classes, kind of like a recital.” Shiro holds up his hands as a few gasps ring out from the crowd. “Now, now, don’t panic -“

Lance spares a glance in Keith’s direction and he’s practically gone white. _Yeah, too late for that, Shiro._

“- it’s a very simple routine that I know you are all capable of. We do this for every class and it’s always lots of fun!”

He’s not lying when he says they do it for every class. Lance thinks he’s seen this damn routine so many times _he_ could do it by now. Although Shiro and Allura _say_ they choreograph a new one every year, it’s almost always the same with just a few alterations. Nothing complicated - at least not by Lance’s standards.

“But!” Shiro continues, a finger held in the air. “I haven’t told you the best part: your routine will be -“ another dramatic pause. “- in pairs!”

Well, _that_ was new.

What about this particular group of kids made Shiro suddenly turn their go-to routine into a pairs routine? Either way, they seemed ecstatic, holding onto each other and practically squealing. Tia has latched onto Keith with the most starry-eyed gaze, fingers white at the knuckles. The look isn’t quite reciprocated, even though Keith is definitely trying his best to _not_ look like he could bolt at any second. His smile is forced and shadowed with obvious nervousness - be it because of Tia’s enthusiasm or the looming routine, Lance isn’t sure.

“So,” Shiro continues. “I’ll be sending you all home with a write out of the routine for you to look at. When we come back next week, we’ll clean it up and do a few rehearsals so that, a few days later you are all ready to perform.”

“Coach Shiro!” A small voice calls out. Lance looks towards its source and spots a short boy with shock red hair waving his hand frantically in the air. He smiles brightly, revealing several missing teeth, when Shiro gestures for him to continue. “Is there gonna be music?”

“Miss Allura has already chosen a song for you to skate to,” Shiro motions towards the stands where Allura stands off ice, observing. “We’ll play it for you next lesson but, for now, you all need to get going.” He waves off towards the group of parents. “Your parents have been given a copy of the routine that you can look at until we go over it in the final lesson.” Shiro props his hands on his hips and grins proudly. “Great work today, as usual. I’ll see you next week!”

The majority of them head straight to their parents to reach excitedly for the routine write-ups, but a few hang back to either chat with Shiro or each other. Tia - still clinging to Keith’s arm - hops in place, her wild curls bouncing with her while she violently shakes his arm.

“Keeeeiiiiiiith!” Her eyes are practically sparkling as she stares up at him. “We’re gonna be _skating partners_!”

Keith looks unable to answer her - either that or he doesn’t know how to answer - and just lets himself be manhandled.

“Oh my _gosh_ ,” Tia stops hopping suddenly, eyes growing somehow even wider. “ _We can get matching outfits_.”

Lance can’t _not_ snort at the look of dread on Keith’s face, but it’s quickly covered by Tia’s bubbling talk.

“What -” she breathes - like her voice has been stolen by her excitement. “- is your favourite colour?”

Keith looks like he’s about to collapse, dead, on the ice when Shiro swoops in, drawing Tia’s gaze onto him. “Tia, before you get _too_ excited, I’ve got some news for you.” She looks up at him, eyes still bright with glee, and he continues with a sympathetic look. “Keith won’t be skating with you this time.”

Tia’s mouth drops open in disbelief, eyes growing watery almost instantaneously. She squeaks out a feeble: “What?”

Shiro kneels down to her level and rubs a hand on her arm, which she promptly jerks away from, tears quickly turning angry. “Tia.” He looks at her with softly, attempting to soothe. “I know you wanted to skate with him, but let’s think about this: Keith is a lot taller than you -“ Tia looks like she’s about to interject so Shiro holds up a hand to cut her off. “- _which means_ that he would skate a lot faster than you, right?”

She doesn’t answer with words, but rather a frustrated huff.

“Keith needs to skate with someone more his size. So do you.”

Tia’s brow furrows at that. “But everyone in the class is littler than him…”

Shiro nods. “That’s right.”

“Who is he going to skate with, then?” She demands.

“Lance.” Shiro’s reaches up to gesture towards Lance, who has been taking this opportunity to snicker at Keith’s panic, and draws him back into the conversation. “He’ll be skating with Lance.”

Both Lance _and_ Keith gawk at that, heads whipping towards Shiro. “ _What?_ ”

Shiro just smiles at them - the picture of ‘innocence’.

Tia turns to glare up at Lance, eyes narrowed and furious. She jabs a finger in his direction and hisses. “I don’t like you.”

“ _Tia_.” Keith scolds, momentarily breaking out of his shock to frown at her but she barely reacts to him and continues shooting daggers at Lance.

Lance, not even noticing Tia’s insults, focuses his attention on Shiro. “You can’t be serious.”

“Lance-“ Shiro starts but Lance cuts him off immediately.

“No way, Shiro.” He shakes his head, shaggy hair hitting his forehead. “There a lot of things you can ask me to do but this is not one of them.”

“What?” Keith jumps in and frowns up at Lance, half teasing, half serious. “Too embarrassed to be skating such a simple routine?”

For the first time in several days - possibly even weeks - Lance feels a spike of anger seer towards Keith.

Unable and unwilling to explain the fucked up-ness of the situation to him, Lance just fixes Keith with the dirtiest look he can manage - which seems to work, seeing as Keith’s somewhat teasing expression dies in intensity. He turns back to Shiro and almost feels like begging, desperation steadily growing in his chest. “ _Shiro._ ”

Shiro rises up from his knee and places a hand on Lance’s shoulder, staring down at him just as softly as he did Tia. Lance really hopes he’s wrong but he swears he sees pity in his coach’s eyes.

“We _will_ talk more about this later,” Shiro gives his shoulder a small squeeze. “I promise you. But right now I have things to take care of, just - just think about it, okay?”

“I don’t _need_ to think about it, Shiro.” Lance feels on the verge of tears  - like he’s been wound so tight, he has no choice but to snap - but Shiro just gives him one more squeeze and turns his attention back to Tia.

“I’m sure one of your friends will be more than happy to skate with you.” He says as kindly as he can but Tia, who has been staring murderously at Lance, doesn’t answer him. “You are such an incredible skater that you will do amazingly no matter who you’re skating with. Alright?”

Tia stays quiet.

“Alright, Tia?”

Still no answer.

Shiro just shakes his head, pats her twice on the head, and skates off. His job is obviously done so he feels no need to stick around, leaving the ticking time bomb of a seven year old in Lance and Keith’s hands.

The latter squats down to force Tia to look at him, hands resting on his knees. “Tia. Will you be okay skating with someone else?”

“ _No._ ” Tia pouts. “I don’t _want_ to skate with someone else.”

Keith just sighs and shakes his head. “Well, I don’t want to perform this routine so it seems we’re both out of luck. We have no choice.”

“ _You_ don’t. But _I_ do.” Lance starts, anger slowly brewing in his gut. “And I’m not skating this damn routine with you.”

“‘Damn’ is a bad word.” Tia says sharply, small brown eyes hot with hatred.

“Whatever kid,” Lance spits back. “I’m in a bad mood so I’m gonna use bad words. Get over it.”

“Lance.” Keith stares up at him disapprovingly.

“What?” He throws his hands up. “She’s blatantly rude to me and gets nothing but I curse once and suddenly I’m the bad guy?”

“She’s a _child_ .” Keith is acting like Lance is being ridiculously unreasonable and it grinds his nerves. “And you’re an adult. Well, you’re _supposed_ to be, but you sure as hell aren’t acting like it.”

“‘Hell’ is a bad word, too.” Tia jumps in - although slightly milder for Keith.

Lance just groans. “I’m not doing this.” He pushes off towards the stands, not even bothering to wait for either of them to respond.

The wall he’s built up over the years is started to break down. The edges crumbling into dust from the slightest touch and all because of one _stupid_ routine in a _stupid_ beginner’s class. He should _not_ be this worked up over this.

Why the fuck does this always happen?

Now seated, he clicks his blade covers in place and begins working on his laces. On the ice, Keith is close to Tia, speaking earnestly as she continues to pout, fists clenched at her sides. Whatever he’s saying seems to work, as a small smiles breaks through the stubborn pout. Keith pokes her in the stomach, a smile gracing his own lips, and she giggles despite her efforts to remain serious. When he continues to talks, offering a quick glance and jab of his thumb in Lance’s direction, she reluctantly nods. Before he can stand, though, she latches her arms around his neck in a fierce hug. Keith stalls for a second but very gently hugs her back, even patting her back a few times, and waits for her to let go before pushing off to the boards towards Lance. Once he’s within earshot, he throws his hands up, stepping off the ice with ease and fixing him with a confused glare.

“What is with you?” He demands while Lance looks back down at his skate, yanking it off violently. “Why are you being like this?”

Lance scoffs. “What? Am I not allowed to be in a bad mood?”

“That’s not what I said.” Keith shakes his head. “I just want to know _why?_ What’s wrong?”

Lance tugs sharply at the other boot’s laces. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

“That’s _obviously_ not true.” Keith ducks down to sit next to him, turned slightly to the side to look at him. “Your lying skills haven’t improved at all so you might as well just tell me the truth. Just _say_ you don’t want to skate with me - I’m not a fucking flower. I won’t wilt. I can take it.”

Lance feels, all at once, exhausted. His emotions have been boiling in intensity, but now it’s like someone flipped a switched and he just wants to get out of here. Wants to stop _feeling_. He sighs. “Leave me alone, Keith.”

“Oh, come _on_ .” Keith shakes his head again, some of his hair falling out of the elastic this time, just barely brushing the bridge of his nose. “Stop acting so high and mighty - like you’re better than all of us here.  I’m sorry you were asked to skate with someone so _beneath you_ , your Highness, but that wasn’t my decision so don’t take it out on me.”

“You know what?” A tiny blip of anger breaks through the foggy haze of exhaustion and he stands up, bag in hand. “ _Fuck_ you, Keith. You don’t fucking know me at all, so stop acting like you’ve got me figured out.” He reaches for his discarded skates and fixes Keith with a vicious glare. “Leave. Me. Alone.”

He shoves his skates into the bag, barely taking the time to zip up his bag, and pushes past Keith who has just risen to his feet. As he storms down the aisle, the cracks in his wall turning into wide fissures that threaten to split, Keith calls for him. He doesn’t follow, doesn’t reach out for him, just calls out once and watches his back grow smaller. Part of Lance is thankful that he gave up so quickly, didn’t jab at the cracks any further.

There’s another part, though - a significantly smaller part - that wants Keith to keep trying, to follow Lance, grab his arm, and _really_ look at him. To see everything that’s breaking inside him. Shaky hands are all that’s keeping his collapsing walls up at this point and, more than anything, he wants another pair there, helping him, before he’s crushed under the rubble.

Lance shoves the idea from his mind and pushes open the door with his shoulder, heaving in a breath and pressing harder against his crumbling foundation.

 

Inside his mind, it’s a wall.

Something he believes he built to keep others out, to protect himself from prying eyes that judge and scold. He built it well - tall, sturdy, and ominous - and most people are too intimidated to even try climbing it. Those who brave the feat find themselves winded a quarter of the way up. Many gave up after a few attempts, leaving only a handful to scale the bricks carefully. Occasionally the wall would shake and split under their weight, but they were never sure if the crack began on their side or from within. It was then when they began to wonder if the wall was meant to keep out or keep in.

Yes, the wall is difficult to climb, but when the doors are being broken down from the inside out, their height soon won’t matter. When the bricked over doors finally swing open, crying out from the effort, and visitors cross with hesitant steps, what will they expect to find? A castle so luxurious they will wonder why it was guarded by a single wall? Will they be disappointed by what they find? By the empty home that has housed no one for years, covered in gnarled and twist ivy that burns the skin. Unkept for years, the plant has claimed every surface for itself, its roots embedded so deep in the stone that it may never come free. And those who once lived in the home fled so that they too wouldn’t be taken prisoner by the stinging ivy.

However, deep in the cellar of that long-abandoned home, a small flower grows bent, bowed, and barely standing. Its colours muted, it is torn between desperately seeking the sun and hiding from its harsh light. Wanting something more than what it knows but being scared of what lies beyond the embrace of the ivy, it waits, petals graying more with every passing day.

Waits to finally be suffocated in its prison, colourless and broken, like it has wanted to so many times.

Waits for someone to return, to rip the ivy from its home, not caring about the burn, and break down the walls. Push away the rubble so the flower can bathe in the light it has been denied for so long.

It does not know which it wants more and does not know if either will ever come.

But, nevertheless, it waits.

 

Now, away from prying eyes, Lance frantically slathers cement into the ugly fissures, shaking hands pressing it into the too-deep cracks that can never quite be filled. Chest heaving and breath ragged from labour, he pauses at the sound of a voice. Someone calling for him. Through the cracks he sees worried eyes, obscured slightly by dark hair that spills from an elastic. A faded scar pulled tight across a crooked nose. Broad shoulders that he can’t see past no matter how hard he tries. Wild hair, framing round glasses that shine brightly with -

Light. The sun.

Warm and comforting it seeps through even the smallest of cracks. For a second, he wants to let it in. Wants to slam his fists against the jagged rock until they come crumbling down. Maybe he’d be crushed. Maybe he’d be buried under these damn walls he built on his own. But it would be worth it if he could feel - if even for a second - the full breadth of the sun’s rays.

But, in the end, fears wins. Lance tears his eyes away from the sun, from the dark hair, the shoulders, and the uneven edges of scarred skin, and press his hands to the rough stone.

Something inside that empty home caves inward and one more petal falls to the floor, colourless and dead, as the sun grazes Lance’s skin once more and he shoves. He does not know what is out there but he knows what is in here and, as much as the ivy burns, it has become familiar. Safe.

The small crack of a window disappears from Lance’s sight as the stone groans against itself, sliding back into place. He is cold once more, hidden from the sun’s intrusive gaze, and all is well. All is right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone wanted more of the barista boy.  
> Ask and you shall receive (he was coming back anyways but I just slipped him in earlier).
> 
> repeat here just in case:  
> I had someone ask this on tumblr so I might as well add it here: if you guys want to talk about it on tumblr/draw art, tag your posts as fic: OTI or fic: on thin ice. That way we can hunt them down :))


	4. Cold As Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK GUYS  
> I'm gonna try to type clearly but I'm at a business thing for the weekend so I've had quite a few glasses of wine.
> 
> While I drove for 5 hours to the tradeshow, we passed 10k hits and 1k kudos. I'm just FLOORED by all of this, honestly. We both are. We are so so so grateful for all the kind things everyone has been saying and all the support we've been given - it has truly been outstanding. I can't begin to say how appreciative I am of all the nice comments and messages I've receive and I'm sure Bronwyn feels the same. Just - thank you. Honestly. I can't believe it.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains a few scenes concerning anxiety and what could be concerned an anxiety attack (when Lance talks to Shiro at the beginning and then when he gets onto the subway later). Please take care reading!
> 
> This chapter is slightly shorter than usual (because of the aforementioned trade show I'm attending) but THINGS ARE COMING GUYS. THEY'RE ON THEIR WAY.

Keith is about to leave the arena, palm flat against the door, when he hears muffled voices just barely within earshot. One of them, lower and hushed, is indistinguishable but the other one, more ragged and irregular in pitch, is undeniably Lance’s. They sound close - really close - but the doors are muting their words enough that he can’t quite make out what they’re saying. If he could just… open the door, he’d be able to hear them more clearly. But he has no idea just _how_ close they are to the door and if he opens it, they might know he’s there.

Lance’s voice spikes again followed quickly by the lower voice, quieter than Lance.

Keith’s stomach flips.

He shouldn’t care. Shouldn’t be so worried that Lance is upset. He was an ass. Rude and self-righteous.

He should _not_ care.

But he does and -

-it hurts.

So he opens the door.

Only a little bit, barely a few inches, but it’s enough. The muffled sounds slowly warp into words.

“Lance.” The lower voice is now very clearly Shiro’s, soothing and calm. “Breathe. Just breathe.”

“Shiro. I _can’t_.” Lance’s voice, no longer obscured by the door, is full of panic as he struggles to catch his breath.

“Yes, you can, Lance.” Shiro insists. “Deep breath in. Then slowly let it out.”

“No. No, no, no, _no_ -” Lance shocks on a jagged sob. “I can’t do _this_ . This fucking stupid - this god _damn_ pairs routine. I _can’t_ , Shiro.”

“Lance, please listen to me. We will talk about this but you need to calm down first. Alright?” There’s a pause as Lance sucks in another breath. “ _Breathe_ , Lance. With me.”

Several seconds pass, close to a minute, where all Keith can hear is Shiro’s slow, even breaths shortly followed by Lance’s. He’s trying, Keith can tell, to match Shiro’s example, but every time he manages to suck in one relatively smooth breath, it’s interrupted by a hiccupping sob. It’s like he can’t hold them back, the panic too much for him to control, and Keith wonders why he is _this_ bothered by what happened.

“Good,” Shiro finally speaks after a long bout of silence. “Good. Just keep breathing, Lance. I’m here, okay? We can talk but you need to _breathe_.”

“Shiro,” the last syllable breaks into a hitched cry but Lance sucks in a slow breath and continues. “Why would you ask me to do this?”

“I -”

Lance cuts him off before he can even finish a single word. “ _This._ I’d do so much for you - for everyone here - but instead you ask me to do _this_ .” A pause, a slow shaky breath drawn in, then: “ _Why did you do this_?”

“Lance. I am -” Keith hears the ruffling of clothing and knows that Shiro has reached out to him. “ _\- so_ sorry. I just thought -- I should have told you. About this. About all of it. And _I’m sorry_ that I didn’t.” Someone, presumably Lance, audibly _whines_ and there’s more ruffling as Keith imagines Shiro rubbing his arm reassuringly. “I thought this would be good for you. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you skate with someone else and not be scared, not panic.” There’s a brief pause followed by a soft chuckle. “Yeah - I saw you guys skating together that one morning after practice.”

“I was just -” Lance breathes, his voice seemingly stolen. “Helping.”

“You were _smiling_. Lance,” Shiro’s even seems somewhat breathless at this point, but not for the same reasons. He sounds almost elated. “Smiling.”

Lance seems to start at that, his voice minutely closer to how it usually is. “S-so?”

“ _So_ -” Shiro continues. “I haven’t seen you willingly skate with someone else in years let alone smile while you were doing it.”

Keith feels his heart clench in his chest.

He shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t care.

He really shouldn’t care about skating with this guy he met five weeks ago, a guy who teases him at every chance he gets. He shouldn’t care about Shiro’s words. Shouldn’t care that Lance hasn’t skated with anyone else in years but did with him. It shouldn’t matter. Why should it matter?

He repeats this mantra to himself until Shiro interrupts his thoughts.

“One short routine.” His voice is so gentle despite his insistence. He seems worried that he’ll scare Lance off. “One short routine. No judges. No competitors. Only you two, some kids and their parents.”

“Shiro.” Lance voices hitches once more but Shiro doesn’t let him continue.

“I know you miss it, Lance. I know you. And I know you want to try again.” A pause. “No one is expecting you to jump straight back into full fledged competitions. No one is asking that of you.”

“I _can’t_.” Lance chokes out.

“You _can_ . Lance, look at me. _Look at me_ .” Shiro takes a deep breath. “You can do this - I know you can. It’s been a long a time since you’ve done it, I know, but I really _really_ think this will be good for you. No - I _know_ it will be.” Shiro pauses again but this time the silence is much heavier, suffocating in emotion. Shiro lowers his voice, remaining just as gentle. “I wouldn’t have asked you to do it if I didn’t think you could.”

Keith wants to interrupt them. Push open the doors and demand answers. His questions have been deflected since he first starting coming here and he’s done being ignored. _Especially_ when the two people on the other side of this door are talking about _him_. This is about him, too, and he so desperately wants to understand. But it’s the heaviness in Lance’s voice that stops him, the vulnerability.

Barely a whisper, Keith has to press against the open door to fully hear it, Lance starts.

“What -” A shaky breath. “What if you’re wrong?”

Keith can feel, even without seeing him, the immense affection and care that emanates from Shiro as he hears the rustling of clothing once more, followed by Shiro’s voice, slightly thicker with emotion.

“I believe wholeheartedly in you, Lance.” He clears his throat before he continues. “I know that, if you want to do this, you absolutely can. All you have to do is make that decision.”

“I just - “ Lance sniffles quietly. “- don’t know what the right decision is.”

“Tell you what:” There’s a brief pause and more ruffling. “Why don’t you help him learn the routine. Just run him through it and make sure he knows what he’s doing. Take that time to think about it - _really_ think about it - and, when the day comes, you can make your decision.”

Keith almost steps out then. Almost tells them that if he’s so awful to teach, so fucking terrible to even _be around,_ then they shouldn’t bother. Based on what Shiro is saying, it sounds like Lance is making the ultimate sacrifice by teaching Keith. He knows he’s not great but that’s no reason for Lance to be such an ass. Keith has been staying after hours after at the arena, even after his own hockey practices, to train, but that doesn’t seem to matter to either of them.

He’s about to do it - step out and say all of this - when Lance starts talking again, voice quiet.

“Fine.” There’s a gross slurp as Lance sucks all the snot back into his skull and all hope Keith had that he wasn’t an ugly crier goes out the window. “ _Fine._ I-I’ll try.” Despite sounding like he’s going to break apart at any second, the sarcastic attitude still coats his words.

Shiro, voice soft, speaks next. “I’m proud of you, Lance. Whatever you do, I’m proud of you.”

Lance sniffles once more and then no one says anything for a long time. No ruffling, no words, no nothing. Keith presses just a little closer to the door and listens intently. Still nothing. Maybe they’re gone? Or leaving? This time, when Keith moves forward, he eases the door open an inch more.

But, for some reason that Keith will never come to understand, the hinges of the door suddenly loosen and he is propelled forward through the doorway face first.

He manges to catch himself in time, his hand still on the doorknob the only thing stopping from slamming into the tiled floored.

However, as it turns out, Shiro and Lance hadn’t left at all.

Both of them turn to look at him as he straightens up, the door slipping from his grasp and slowly closing with a click that echoes in the empty hall. Shiro stares at him in confusion, his arms halfway wrapped around Lance’s shoulders in an interrupted hug. Lance looks more surprised than his brother as he blinks up at Keith, eyes red and cheeks damp, before quickly looking away to rub the back of his sleeve under his nose. He turns his body just enough to hide his face from Keith. Keith knew he was eavesdropping - he _voluntarily_ and _consciously_ chose to do it, after all - but actually seeing Lance’s vulnerability and the intimate moment he literally stumbled into is a whole other story. He isn’t sure how or what to say in this situation but, fortunately, Shiro does it for him, clearing his throat quietly.

“Keith.” He pulls enough away from Lance to look at Keith directly but still keeps a hand on the other boy’s shoulder. “Are you headed home?”

“Uhhhh,” he knows Shiro is trying to move Keith’s attention to something that’s not Lance’s distress but it’s just too loud for Keith to ignore. “No, actually. I was, uh, coming to see you actually.”

I mean it’s not _technically_ a lie, but it’s also not technically the truth. He wasn’t sure what he was doing right now - especially after the latest series of events - but he was here and needed an explanation.

“Well,” Shiro fixes him with a pointed look followed by one shot in Lance’s direction. “Why don’t you meet me back inside the rink in a few minutes?”

“No,” having found his voice, Lance speaks up, then. His head still ducked so as not to catch anyone’s eye, he continues. “I’m gonna go now anyways. Sorry I’ll be missing rehearsals today, Shiro - I’ll be in early tomorrow to practice.”

“Lance.” Keith sees Shiro’s grip on his shoulder tighten but Lance just shakes his head.

“It’s fine. Really. I’m just gonna go home.”

Shiro seems to accept this, removing his hand and offering him a small smile, so Keith steps forward then -

“Lance!”

But it’s not his voice that fills the hall. All three of them turn, confused, towards a rather angry-looking Allura crossing the hall to them.

“A man just told me you assaulted him during the lesson.” She reaches them, then, hands on her hips. “What is the meaning of ---” Abruptly, she stops. Keith watches her take in Lance’s expression - his still-swollen eyes, the way he avoids looking at anyone directly, his disheveled hair - and then dart her eyes to Shiro. He just shakes his head at her, brow furrowed. For the first time, Keith sees her fumble for words. “Oh, um, well -”

Keith, unsure of how to respond, looks back at Lance for an explanation. Surprisingly, Lance is staring right back at him, eyes narrowed - hurt. The intensity of his gaze is enough to make Keith start, shocked, but Lance gives him little time to recover before he offers an answer.

“That was me.” Never looking away from Keith, he addresses Allura’s concerns, voice steady and even. “I should have never done it. It was a mistake. Sorry.”

And with that, he pushes past the three of them and heads towards the front entrance. Keith watches him go, shoulders hunched and hands jammed deep in his pockets, and can’t help but feel he should follow. He briefly considers calling out to him but he’s already out the door before Keith can make a decision. He’s left them with such weighted words and Keith can’t help but feel they were for him, something more than a simple explanation.

“What - ?” Allura’s voice breaks through and Keith looks back at her and Shiro. “What happened?”

“I-I don’t know, he just -” Keith pauses, running a hand through his hair and huffing out a sharp breath. “I don’t know what’s going on here but that man - he didn’t assault him. I don’t know what it was about but he definitely didn’t assault him.”

Allura blinks at him, eyes wide and confused, before her expression settles into something softer and she sighs. “I figured as much. This man has received a few complaints from the fellow parents for being disruptive so it doesn’t shock me that he lied about what happened. I just needed to be certain.” She grants him a soft smile before turning to Shiro, face painted into concern. “Is Lance alright?”

“He’s -” Shiro’s shoulders slump now, as if he’s suddenly carry a thousand extra pounds on his back. “He’s okay.”

“I suppose we should have spoken to him first. I just thought - ”Allura drops her gaze but doesn’t continue. Shiro nods, a hand extending out to touch her arm. Keith looks between the two of them for a few seconds in an attempt to decipher what their vague behaviours mean but can’t get anything from the looks and gestures. He has been sitting in silence for too long while others dodge his questions.

Keith folds his arms across his chest and fixes his brother with a glare. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Keith -”

“No. No more stupid excuses. I want answers this time.” Keith gestures towards the front door where Lance disappeared. “One second he’s joking around, being his normal self, and the next he’s freaking out on me - on Tia, a _child_ .” He whips his head back towards Shiro accusingly. “ _Then_ I hear you talking about me with him - about skating with me - and he’s acting like it’s the worst damn thing anyone’s asked him to do! There’s something more here and no one will tell me what it is. Everyone’s holding onto this secret but you can’t keep this from me anymore, Shiro. Not when it’s now about me, too.”

Shiro shakes his head, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “This isn’t my secret to tell, Keith. It’s up to him to tell you. When he’s ready.”

“That’s _never going to happen_ ,” Keith throws his hands up in frustration. “This isn’t fair anymore - keeping this from me - especially when he’s my goddamn _teacher_! I have a right to know what’s going on here! You can’t -”

“ _Keith_.”

Keith stops, hot anger just barely below the surface and stares at his brother.

There have only been a few times that Shiro has spoken to him this way.

Once when they were kids and Keith had cut all the bristles off his toothbrush as revenge for stealing the last popsicle. It was a stupid fight, Keith knows this, but the look in Shiro’s eyes had hurt him more than any other punishment their parents could deal. The only other time Keith can remember was about five years ago. After Shirio had left hockey for figure skating and he decided to move out of their apartment, they had gotten into a yelling match while he packed. It was ugly. Vicious. He said a lot of terrible things and so did Shiro. And he had used that same tone of voice. The kind that said “you crossed a line”. It wasn’t a threat but it wasn’t just a warning either… it was coupled with such heavy disappointment and it never failed to snatch the words from Keith’s mouth. That was the only time Keith has ever truly hated his brother.

But if there’s anything he’s learnt from those seldom times, it’s that when it happens, Shiro is dead _fucking_ serious.

Glaring down at him, eyes narrowed and lips held in a tight line, he steps forward to force Keith to focus on him.

“You don’t know him, Keith.” He lays a hand on his shoulder but it isn’t for comfort or support, not like it was for Lance. “And you don’t get to decide what he does or doesn’t do. He is my family just as much as you are and I will do anything to keep him from getting hurt again.” His eyes just barely soften as he stares him down but his voice remains stern. “So don’t push it.”

Keith and Shiro are in a silent stare off, neither of them backing down, but Keith knows he’s fighting a losing battle. Shiro is hiding something from him - they all are - and Keith so desperately wants to know what it is. The only way that’s going to happen is if he holds his ground.

But Keith has seen this look before, seen this stance many times when they were kids.

Seen it on the playground when the older kids would have him cornered. Seen it when someone told him he wasn’t _really_ his parents’ kid. Seen in on the ice when a player was just a little too rough with him.

Protectiveness. Fueled by an unfathomable love that not even Keith fully understands.

He’s seen it more times than he can count. But he’s only been on the receiving end a handful of times.

This is one of them.

“Don’t -” Shiro repeats. “- push it, Keith.”

“Shiro,” Allura reaches out, placing a hand on his arm to tug at the vice grip he has on Keith’s shoulder. He allows himself to be moved, not really listening, just staring Keith down.

But Keith has given in, resigned for the time being. He knows he’s crossed some sort of line - Pidge told him as much many weeks ago and Keith is only further convinced of it by how Shiro continues to watch him. He pulls at the strap of his bag, lifting it higher on his shoulder, and taking a few steps away from his brother.

Allura follows the gap he makes, blocking Shiro from his sight. “Lance has been through --” She sighs. “A lot. You’ll forgive us if we are a little overprotective of him.” Keith rolls his eyes but she continues anyways. “What I am trying to say - what Shiro is trying to say - is that he carries a lot of weight on his shoulders. I can see that you want to help and, in order to help him, you need to know. But we can’t make that decision for him, Keith. He needs to be the one to tell you. Not anyone else.” She smiles that same damn maternal smile at him, eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. “Give him time.”

Keith’s chest feels tight and he suddenly feels really embarrassed. Something about Allura’s voice, about Shiro’s fierce protectiveness, about Lance’s egg-shell thin composure - the whole situation suddenly seems far more personal and intimate than he initially thought.

What _happened?_

“I-” Keith drops his gaze to the ground, to the scuff marks from his sneakers. “I should get going.”

“Keith,” Shiro steps forward then, stern glare replaced by mild concern.

Keith just holds up a hand. “It’s fine. I get it.” He takes a few steps away and neither of them follow. “I’ll see you guys later.”

With his shoulders hunched and hands dug into his pockets, he follows Lance’s steps into the empty parking lot with a million questions hanging heavy on his lips.

* * *

 

 Lance is late for the subway by _seconds_ , and is just about to throw his hand in the doors when they close and the train takes off without him. With a huff, he finds an empty bench (not a difficult task when it’s 11am on a Wednesday) and throws his bag down at his feet so he can lean back against the cement walls.

He tries not to think about it, about the memories that are creeping up from the recesses of his mind, but they’re hard to ignore - always have been.

 

_“What’s wrong with you today?” Such a lilting voice, smooth as honey, yet it somehow manages to sound sharp and accusatory. “You’ve almost dropped me twice!”_

 

He takes in a few deep breaths, focusing on keeping them steady, but the exhale comes out shaky anyways.

 

_“Lance!” Shiro’s voice is on the verge of panic. It’s the first time Lance has ever heard him sound like this - like he doesn’t know what to do. “Lance - what’s wrong? What happened?”_

 

Calm down. You’re not there. It’s just a memory. It’s over.

 

_“I just can’t trust you anymore.” Can honey sour? Can it rot? How can someone who used to speak to him so sweetly sound so distant, so void of emotion? “How could anyone trust such a fuck up?”_

 

He slams the back of his head against the cement wall and the hall echoes with a dull thud. His heart beats heavily in his chest as he shoves away the suffocating wave of memories creeping up on him, eyes clenched shut.

Stop thinking about it. Just calm down. Come _on_ , don’t be such an idiot. Just calm the _fuck down_.

Panic inching itself way through him, he fumbles for his phone in his pocket and then for the tangled mess of headphones in the outer pocket of his gym bag. He doesn’t care what he listens to, honestly, so long as it’s loud enough to drain out the smooth voice lurking in his mind. He flips through his playlists, landing on one labeled “Free Programs” and shoves the headphones in his ears just in time to catch the first notes of some languid instrumental piece.

He leans back again, breath whooshing out of him in a drawn out sigh, and lets himself be pulled in by the building harmonies. He knows this song - he skated to it just over a year ago when he was still getting back into the swing of things. He practiced it so much Shiro joked he’d never forget it and - as the train pulls up to the station void of people - Lance feels his muscle memory kick in, subtly miming the movements. He steps through the doors into an empty car and wonders if he got on the wrong train. Although, it _is_ near noon on a weekday - most of the business people have already gone to work and no one’s headed home from school. Everyone must have caught the train a few minutes earlier and left this one all to Lance. He’s not complaining, though, the privacy is appreciated.

The doors hiss closed behind him and the subway slowly pulls away from the station, signs and lights blurring as they pick up speed. Lance thinks of sitting down and passing out for the ride but he’s too antsy, too fidgety to sit still right now. He watches the station disappear into darkness as the train dips into a tunnel and everything is bathed in harsh artificial lighting. His hand on the pole in front of him is stripped of any warmth his skin tone once carried and looks almost sickly under the flickering lights. His reflection in the window stares back at him, eyes framed by dark circles and hair sticking up from being gripped too hard - a bad habit when he’s anxious. It’s been awhile since he’s broken down like that, and that wasn’t even a full breakdown. He had managed to smother most of it, riding out the few bubbles of emotions that had burst, and Shiro had quelled the rest. It had been mild for him. But, mild or not, it was still exhausting.

The violin ringing in his ears swells and he tears his gaze away from his reflection. He remembers this song well, well enough to hum along to the slow, weeping melody. If anyone else was here with him, he’d never do it, but it’s only him here so he doesn’t care as much. The music draws the choreography from his memories and he finds himself not only singing along, but moving along with it, too.

He glances around, just making sure he really _is_ alone, and shrugs.

The subway car isn’t _quite_ as big as a rink but it will do.

* * *

The train is just pulling up to the station when Keith gets there and he has to flat out sprint to catch it, hopping onto one of the end cars before the doors can close on him. The car is completely empty, seeing as it’s nowhere near rush hour, so Keith throws his bag down on one of the longer rows of seats and plopping down beside it.

He left the arena for a few reasons, the majority of which revolved around Lance and whatever the hell was going on there, but he also has practice tonight and needs to pack up his hockey gear before heading out. And maybe eat a meal - although that depends on what he has in his fridge, to be honest. Provincials finals are in three weeks (which his coach is convinced they’ll get to) so they’ve got games on and off until then, couple with the occasional practice. Coach is working them to the bone to make sure that they win gold this year. They’ve only placed first once since Shiro left the team and her thirst for the gold medal gets stronger every year. Every other year it’s been either silver or bronze but she’s stubborn and Keith’s starting to get worried she might have some sort of breakdown if they don’t win this time.

He pulls out his phone to check the time - he should be home in about thirty minutes which gives him more than enough time to shower, pack, and maybe eat something before making the hour and a half long commute to the rec centre. He hates commuting places, especially without Shiro’s car at his disposal, but at least the train is quiet today. No awkward small talk from abnormally friendly strangers this time. So he’s safe for now.

He’s just about to lean back into the seat to take a power nap when a blur of movement catches his eye. Through the scratched and grimy glass of the connecting car’s window, someone is…. Jumping? No. Dancing? Keith squints, pulling himself to his feet and stepping closer. Dancing, definitely dancing. But it isn’t the average person’s dancing - it’s more fluid than that. Ballet, maybe.

Who performs ballet on a moving subway train?

The car slowly pulls to a stop and Keith has to grab onto a nearby pole to keep himself upright. The momentum pulls him closer to the window just as the figure turns to face him. The features slowly come into focus and Keith immediately recognizes Lance’s dark skin and shaggy mop of hair. Headphones, the cords not even untangled all the way, are jammed in his ears as he breezes around the car in effortless spins and intricate footwork. He’s not on ice but he moves like he is, like it’s just _part_ of him now. Keith realizes now that he must be running through a routine of some sort, his choreography timed to an unheard orchestra, slow and fluid. Keith has seen nothing but flashy and enthusiastic routines from Lance, full of complex jumps and in-your-face dance sequences. This routine is so starkly different from those that it throws Keith off at first.

Despite not hearing the music, Keith knows exactly what it would be like. No obnoxious pop songs this time, not for this routine. Something slow and winding, that builds so much you can barely stand to listen any longer until _finally_ it releases into a resolution. And Lance is doing the same. Each movement starts from his chest, pulling at something Keith can’t see but can sure as hell _feel_. It almost hurts to watch - so fervent that Keith feels himself start to get drawn in.

What could have possible happened to bring out emotions this intense? His movements and expression are dripping in grief so strong even _Keith_ can feel it, the beginnings of a knot forming in the centre of his chest. No one looks like this, moves like this, without pulling it from somewhere. You don’t just conjure up that kind of emotion from thin air. This isn’t the Lance he saw less than an hour earlier, panicked desperation creeping up on him, and it certainly isn’t the same Lance that teaches him every week, whose sarcasm and wit hides whatever vulnerability he may have hidden under the surface. This Lance looks far more open, more authentic, more genuine -

More human.

The annoyance and frustration Keith felt towards him slowly starts to melt away and he takes a few hesitant steps forward to watch Lance unfurl into an elegant spin. The train doors hiss open but no one boards. Keith doesn’t mind, at all. Not if it means Lance will keep moving like he is. Not if it means he can silently look in on this person he barely recognizes through all the raw emotion. He takes another step forward, trying to somewhat hide himself behind the edges of the window, but the train chooses now, of all times, to lurch forward suddenly.

He doesn’t know what he ate or what god had a bad day to make his coordination go to shit for a few hours, but here he is, falling face first towards the ground for the second time today. Except this time he really does fall, nose slamming into the sticky subway floor with a loud crack.

 _Nicely done, Keith_.

* * *

It’s a comfort, losing himself in something familiar and safe, without having to worry about scores or his form or any of the other technicalities that come with competitive skating. It brings Lance back to why he started skating in the first place, why he loves it so much, and it’s honestly euphoric.

The panic slowly seeps out of him, drawn out and smooth like her honey-sweet voice, and he sighs with relief. The train eases to a stop but a quick glance out the window, mid spin, tells him no one is at this station either so he glides, as best he can while the train is pulling away once more, into the next series of moves.

Even though he has to shorten the breadth of his movements and side-stepping seats so he doesn’t slam into them, the routine levels him out. Fills in the heavy-set cracks in his composure and steadies his breath once more. And he welcomes it. Welcomes the calmness inching up through his body. Welcomes the steadiness of his hands as they extend above him, working through the movements of a layback spin.

He’s almost tempted to put the song on repeat, to run through the routine over and over again until he’s home, safe in the quiet of his apartment.

That is - until a loud crash breaks through the wailing of violins, making him jump and nearly trip into a nearby seat.

Lance whips his head around, popping one headphone out of his ear. No one else is inside his car and the train hasn’t suddenly crashed which only sets Lance’s nerves more on edge. There’s a muffled moan behind him and, shifting his weight, he spins. The window connecting his car to the next is blurry, scratched up and vandalized, but Lance definitely sees the hand that reaches up to grab at the ledge. There’s another groan as a messy pile of dark hair falls into view, followed by Keith’s grimacing face. Whatever concern or unease that was building in Lance’s chest vanishes, immediately replaced with annoyance. _Just_ when he was starting to calm down, this moron shows up to crash the show. Although, maybe it was more of a crack, seeing as the sound of his face hitting the floor was audible even through the car doors.

Keith presses a hand to the bridge of his nose, wincing in pain, and peeks up through the window. Lance doesn’t turn away, just places a hand on his hip and stares back with a lifted eyebrow. Keith’s face goes white for less than a second, followed immediately by a brilliant red. He averts his gaze and coughs into his fist as he rights himself slowly. Lance just rolls his eyes. He walks up the window, unimpressed, and raps his knuckles against the glass twice. Keith hears him, Lance knows he does, but he doesn’t turn to look at him. Lance repeats - _tap tap_ \- and this time he sees Keith stop, shoulders slumping as he sighs, and turn to face him.

“What?” Lance doesn’t hear him but he can see the word on his lips.

Lance rolls his eyes and points to his own nose. “You okay?”

Keith’s hand reaches up to touch his face once more then pulls away and inspects his fingers. No blood. He shrugs. Lance continues to stare at him, eyes almost bored, until Keith actually answers him. “I’m fine.”

Lance sighs and looks back over his shoulder at the empty car, already done with this conversation; nothing’s broken so he doesn’t really need to be a part of this anymore. He’s turning to leave when Keith copies him, tapping his knuckles against glance. Lance glances at him, annoyed, but Keith doesn’t say anything at first, just bites his lips and shoves his hands into his sweatshirt pockets. It takes several seconds and an expectant raise of Lance’s eyebrows before Keith says anything.

“Can we talk?” Lance reads off his lips.

He definitely wasn’t expecting _that_. They aren’t exactly in prime position for a casual conversation at the moment. “Through the glass?” He frowns, gesturing in front of him.

“What?” Keith’s eyes focus in on Lance’s lip and he repeats his words, enunciating more, but it does no good. Keith looks confused and Lance is about to flat out scream the words when Keith holds up a finger, silencing him. He looks off towards his car’s doors as the train slowly eases to another stop, the next station pulling into view. Keith points towards the now opening doors and then to Lance’s. Lance barely reacts, just heads back to his depositing bag to throw himself into the seat next to it, good mood ruined.

He doesn’t need this - the resurfacing of emotions, the reminder that he’s never gonna be the same person that he used to be, the interruption, the oncoming lecture from Keith. None of it. He’d prefer to just zone out until he gets home where he can wallow without the judgement of others. The Fates apparently don’t care about what he wants, seeing as they plopped Keith here, on the same subway as him, so he can barge in and make his day even worse.

The stubborn skater in question trudges through the car doors, bag slung over his shoulder, and barely looks Lance in the eyes when he sits down next to him. He also _doesn’t say anything_. Not when the doors close behind him. Not when the train starts moving again. Not when Lance crosses his arms over his chest and stares him down. Nope. He just sits there, fiddling with the laces on his sweatshirt, and ignores his pointed looks. Eventually, Lance gives in and clears his throat.

“Talk about what.” It’s less of a question and more of a blank statement. A _get on with it already_ kind of statement.

Like he forgot Lance was even there, Keith is shocked when he looks up at him. He continues to twirl the lace between his fingers as he stares, leg bouncing against the seat. Lance’s patience is growing thin.

“Look,” he swipes a hand through his frazzled hair. “If you’re here to chew me out about earlier, don’t bother. I’m an asshole, I get it.”

“Oh, ah - “ Keith stops himself, hand raised for a second in a dismissive wave before stopping himself to mull over his thoughts. He continues after a few seconds. “No that’s - not it. I just -” He stops again and Lance feels like he might explode.

He turns to face Keith more fully, eyes narrowed and tired. “I’m too tired for this. It’s not even twelve o’clock and I’m already exhausted so if you have something to say -” he gestures towards him. “Say it.”

“I’m _trying_ . I just-” he sighs. “I’m not good at this kind of shit.” He shifts in his seat, tossing his bag at his feet and leaning forward on his knees. “Look I just - I feel like I crossed some sort of line earlier. I didn’t mean to, really - I don’t even know what I _did_ to be honest. It was like, everything was fine and then all of a sudden it wasn’t? I was confused - _am_ confused. I don’t know…  If I did something wrong, then -” He exhales slowly and peers at Lance through the corner of his eye, barely turning to face him. “Look. What I’m trying to say is I’m -- _sorry_ . If I did something to piss you off. I mean _obviously_ I did ‘cause you look like you want to kill me right now. I didn’t mean it. Honestly.” He seems to be done then, pausing to purse his lips, but he continues after a few beats of silence without giving Lance the opportunity to form a response. “And, you know what, I don’t think I deserve that. Like, yeah I obviously did something wrong, but I didn’t do it _on purpose_ . I mean, _fuck_ , people fuck up sometimes, okay? You don’t have to act like I fucking murdered your _mom_ or something.”

Keith visibly bites his tongue at that and Lance just blinks at him. “You suck at apologizing, you know that right?”

“I’m aware.” Keith stares back down at the floor with a huff.

Lance leans back into his own seat and rest his head against the window. The subway has ducked into another tunnel so the only light source outside is the occasional red-orange flash of a security light that partially obscures Lance’s reflection in the window. He stares back at himself, heavy set eyes tired and impassive under the artificial lighting, and tries to find some part of him that at least _feels_ something right now. The panic from earlier is now muted, dull and out of focus, and he’s become almost entirely apathetic. The routine was at least _something_ for him to work through - something to channel even a minute fraction of emotions into - but now that it’s done, he just feels _tired_. Empty. He doesn’t have the energy to feel anything other than baseline static. He knows Keith is trying but he’s just - he can’t right now.

Amid Lance’s contemplation, Keith’s eyes flit over to catch his in the window’s reflection, apparently having pulled his gaze from the mud on the floor. Lance expects him to start again - ducking his head once more - but this time he doesn’t look away, just holds his gaze steady, serious but mostly unreadable.

“I’m aware but -” Keith blinks once, the flash of orange light blurring over his expression. “- I’m trying. Okay? I tried.”

Lance _wants_ to feel something. Anger, acceptance, grief, pain - _something_. But nothing comes to him. Whatever chasm those emotions spilled out of is completely dry and he’s just too damn exhausted to fake something. So, without really responding, he stands. Keith pulls his gaze from the reflection to his face, now, expression unchanged. They stay like that until the train slowly stops, both of them swaying with the jolt of the breaks.

“This is my stop.” Lance nods towards the door. It isn’t. He’s not supposed to leave for another five stops, but he can’t sit here for one more breath - he just can’t. He’d rather suffer through the long walk home than stay here.

Keith doesn’t say anything, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth as his eyes dart over the planes of Lance’s expression. Lance doesn’t know what he’s looking for but he sure as hell won’t find it - Lance has nothing to give him anymore. He doesn’t wait much longer, turning and slipping between the doors before they can close on him to head out to the real world. Away from the synthetic lighting and the honey-sweet voice dripping back into his mind.

 

 _“I_ tried _, Lance. What the fuck did you ever do?_ ”

 

* * *

Provincials are, arguably, Keith’s busiest time of year.

Sure, he doesn’t have four or five practices a week but he’s got at least two games a week _on top_ _of_ two shorter practices. Provincials practice sessions, like today’s, aren’t like the average practice. Now that they have some concrete to work on as opposed to generic drills to boost their ability as a team. With the last game’s outcome fresh in their minds, Coach has them look at specific moments and polish up whatever skills they were lacking.

The outcome of the past game (well, _games_ ) was an overwhelming success. Their team was one of the strongest in the roster, rivalled only by one, so the early games were a breeze for them, winning them all by at least a four point lead. Their coach always has something for them to improve on, though. Today was offensive plays and footwork - the latter becoming much easier for Keith since he started figure skating - to try to lessen the amount of shots missed.

This drill was particularly annoying for the forwards. It was designed to force them to think up, work through, and organize different attack entries on the drop of a hat, all while avoiding the backchecker (who was dropped there to distract and pressure them into acting). Keith had started with the puck, skating down center ice towards the passing point, and knew the back checker was just behind him. He sent the puck off to the right winger who starts off towards the net and draws the checker’s attention to him. Keith knows these are his teammates, knows they’re just doing what they’re told to do, but he’s not gonna let someone knock out a potential scorer. So, stick held off the ice, he forces the backchecker closer to the boards, moving easily in front of him as he tries to sidestep out of the way.

“Fuck off, Kogane.” He says, mouthguard slurring his words. “Follow the puck.”

Keith spares him half a glance before he’s shouldering him into the boards, helmet slamming against glass as he loses his footing and falls.

“Don’t have to,” Keith says, watching the guy slowly pick himself up, and nods towards his right winger who easily hooks the puck past the goalie.

The guys tears off his helmet and spits out his guard. “What the _fuck_ \- that wasn’t the point of the drill.” he steps up into Keith’s face. “You’re supposed to focus on scoring.”

Keith just shrugs. “If you’re not chasing after the forwards, they’re more likely to score.”

The player - a newbie, Keith barely recognizes him - seethes in front of him, eyes narrowed. “You like to think you’re tough shit,” the guy stands half a foot shorter than Keith, even when on skates, but does his best to fluff himself up anyways. “Maybe if you actually did more than beat people up, you could get away with ignoring the drills.”

It’s been a long day, Keith is tired, so it takes very little to make him snap right now - and this guy succeeded in doing just that. “Yeah, okay. All this - coming from a bench warmer.” Keith closes the last bit of space between them, bumping his chest tauntingly. “Maybe if you actually _played_ in a game, you’d know what to do in drills like this.”

“I’m sick of your shit, Kogane.” He bumps him right back, _definitely_ more aggressively than Keith did, which only manages in pissing him off further. He’s just about to shake off one of his gloves when the whistle blows and his coach skids into view, one hand on each of their shoulders and forcing them apart.

“Alright guys, back off.” She gives one strong shove and inserts herself between them. “I get it: you’re tired. And I’m sure that exhaustion is making you frustrated as hell but let’s get this straight. You are all teammates. And teammates _don’t_ beat each other up.”

“But, Coach!” The other guy jabs his gloved hand towards Keith. “He deviated - he didn’t follow the drill plan.”

She turns her gaze on him, mild annoyance turning into flat out anger. “Told tell me how the drill’s supposed to be run. And believe it or not, Erikson, but sometimes a good check secures a goal. Play a game or two and you’ll figure it out.” He visibly recoils, ducking his head slightly, and Keith snickers under his breath. This doesn’t evade his coach’s attention, however, as she reels on him next. “But _this_ \-- was not one of those times. The play was clean, you could have scored without taking him out. Not every problem needs to be solved with aggression, Kogane.”

Keith knows better than to talk back to his coach but he makes a point of rolling his eyes the second she turns away. Some of his teammates have gathered closer and one of them elbows him, hard, in the arm.

“Coach let you off with a warning, dude.” He whispers as Keith readjusts his helmet and shoots him an angry look. “Might not want to push your luck.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he starts, watching his coach pull away from the group and put her whistle to her lips.

“Let’s move on! Three versus zero drive. Line up and make sure to rotate positions the next time you’re up!” She tweets it once, loud, then lets it fall against her chest with her arms folded underneath it.

Keith falls into line, automatically assuming the left winger position, and when the puck hits his stick, he puts all he has into the slapshot. The goalie catches it but Keith _knows_ it hurts. Especially when he catches him shaking his glove hand before the next shot arrives.

“So -- what the hell was that about?”

Keith thought he had been safe - having made it off the ice, through the change room and all the way out the front door without getting a lecture from his coach. Turns out she was waiting outside for him, cigarette held between her index and middle finger as she takes a long drag, to chew him out. Keith sighs but doesn’t move closer to her.

“What was what about?”

She raises an eyebrow at him and nods towards the rec centre doors. “The unnecessary check. The bitchy mood. The whole _practice_.” She pushes off the wall she was leaning on and fixes him with a look that tells him she’s not asking because she cares. She probably just wants him to be at the top of his game for finals. “Why are you in such a shit mood?”

Keith’s expression remains unchanged but he turns his face away when she blows out a mouthful of smoke before he replies. “Bad day.”

“Bad day.” She repeats. She waits a few seconds, maybe for Keith to elaborate, before dropping her cigarette and grinding it with the toe of her boot. “Bad day or not, you can’t let it affect your skating. Not this close to finals.”

 _Would you look at that,_ Keith thinks.

“Look, I know you’re tired and I’m sure you’re getting sick of those skating classes, but you gotta get a handle on your issues.” She smooths a hand across her hair, catching some of the flyaways that escaped her high ponytail, and sighs. “Just-- save the checks for _actual_ games, alright? When you’re playing against people who _aren’t_ your teammates. Only a few more weeks of Provincials and even less of the skating classes. After that, you can go back to your usual routine and prepare for Nationals. Get your shit together now before it becomes a problem.”

“Yes, Coach.” Keith’s hand on his bag strap tightens imperceptibly but he doesn’t push it.

“Good.” She steps away from him to a parked car at the edge of the curb, pulling a set of keys from her pocket. “Now go home and rest. I’ll see you Friday at the game.”

Keith doesn’t respond, just watches her unlock her car, swing inside, and start the engine. Only when she starts to pull away does he continue his trek to the subway station, his bad mood flaring up once more like coals on a log. It’s been a long ass day and he just wants to lay down on his ~~couch~~ bed for the next ten hours _minimum_. He left the tadpole lessons confused and somewhat frustrated, tried to reconcile things with Lance on the train only to be completely shut out, now his teammates and coach are taking every opportunity to make him feel like complete and utter shit. He honestly doesn’t need this right now.

But, as Keith ducks down into the subway station, he can’t help noticing the differences between his team’s relationship and Shiro’s. His team doesn’t do much together outside of practice but they seem to regularly spend time together - Hunk and Lance even _live_ together. He couldn’t imagine living with one of his teammates. They just seem to genuinely enjoy being around each other whereas he’s around his teammates _because_ they’re his teammates. This probably isn’t anyone’s _fault_ exactly, he realizes just as the train pulls up. It’s moreso about the chemistry of his team and who they are as people. His coach probably has something to do with it but seems like a compounded kind of thing. Her stubbornness and insistence on winning coupled with dynamic between him and his teammates - it just doesn’t work the same.

His coach isn’t the kind of person to instil a sense of community in her players. They work together, train together, and play together but they don’t _grow_ together. Not like Lance and the others do. She always says “they’re your teammates” and tells them to act like it but -- how are they supposed to do that when there’s so much distance (sometimes even animosity) between them? Shiro’s team is so much more… supportive of each other. Not only with each other but with Shiro. Keith thinks back to the moment between Shiro and Lance that he walked (see: fell) in on. He can’t see his coach ever treating him like that or saying those things to him. Even today, when he wasn’t acting like himself, she just told him to brush it off and shape up. None of the support, compassion, or genuine _care_ Shiro has for his skaters.

And the skaters, themselves; they’re more like friends than teammates. Hunk and Pidge spend so much time together in and out of practice that Keith is certain they know exactly what the other is thinking at any given moment. Lance and Hunk are _roommates_ and actually do spend almost all of their free time together. Keith couldn’t imagine going to the gym with any of his teammates, let alone _living with them_. Even Pidge, who picks on Lance every chance they get, defends and protect him wholeheartedly.

Although, their team _used_ to be closer. Around the time Shiro left, a few other senior players did too - having been drafted into the NHL - and the dynamic of the team shifted abruptly. New players were recruited, old ones grew further apart, and Keith (he’ll admit) became more isolated and reclusive. Partly because his relationship with his brother was changing so drastically, it kind of drove him into a dark corner. That, in turn, drove his teammates away. He didn’t make it easy for them - his hostility and aggression fed the growing tension between them until it was too thick to break through.

That’s not to say he doesn’t enjoy skating with them, he does. It just isn’t the same as what Lance and the others have. Not in any way. There’s a part of him - bigger than he’d like to admit - that wants that kind of relationship with his teammates. They celebrate wins together but, once everyone leaves the change room, it’s pretty much over with. No after parties, no celebratory dinners, none of that. It’s not the kind of team they are.

And it used to not bother him. It was just the way things are. But now - seeing how everyone at Allura’s rink interact --

He wishes things were different.

* * *

 The next week passes without much excitement.

They won their game on Friday six to two (no one was surprised, honestly) and then had practice Monday and Tuesday. Keith contemplated visiting the rink a few times but every time he’d resign himself to it, Lance’s face - closed off and stoic - would pop back into his mind and he’d set his bag back onto the ground.

He still didn’t know what happened that day.

Before Shiro had told Lance he’d be skating with Keith, everything had been normal. Better than normal even. They had been _getting along_ \- something Keith never thought would happen - and he actually enjoyed spending time with Lance.

Looked forward to it.  

He looked forward to all the small smiles Lance gave him during their lessons that slipped onto his mouth whenever Keith learned a new move. He looked forward to all the times Lance would make some painfully cheesy joke, glancing over at Keith with a raised eyebrow and proud smirk. It was… endearing.

And then there were all the moments - that usually happened when none of the others were around - that made Keith start to wonder.

Like when Lance would reach over to correct his form, fingers just barely grazing his arm or back or hand, and Keith’s breath would catch. Or when Keith, swarmed by children all asking him to spin them around, would look over (mainly for help) and catch Lance’s gaze, warm and soft, watching him with amusement. He couldn’t shake that look from his mind and every time he’d remember it - how Lance stared with such blatant affection - his heart would tighten in his chest.

Keith isn’t naive enough to think that this was something more than it was - which was a teacher-student kind of thing - so he ignores all of that. Ignores all of the little moments that make him stare just a little too long. It doesn’t matter anyways, not anymore. Not now that Lance hates him again.

Because, along came Shiro, and _boom_. It’s all done.

 

But now Keith _has_ to go.

He doesn’t know what’s going to happen - with the lessons, with the routine, with anything - but there’s one more lesson and he’s come this far. Plus he’s stubborn.

Which is why he currently finds himself on route to the arena, sign of _La Vida Mocha_ slowly coming into view from behind the golden leaves of the surrounding trees. It’s going to be a long day Keith just knows it so, before he can think twice about it, he’s crossing the parking lot and pushing open the front doors.

He’s greeted by that same thick smell of coffee and nearly passes out from sheer bliss. Behind the counter is the same blonde-haired barista with the same round glasses perched on his nose. This time he’s sporting a plaid button down under his apron and his hair is pulled back with a dark headband. He smiles brightly when he spots Keith and meets him at the counter.

“Hi there!” He leans a hand on the counter as he talks. “How are you, today?”

“I’m good, thanks.” Keith looks up to the menu behind his head, somewhat more coherent than he was the last time he was here and, therefore, more capable of actually reading the words printed there.

“That’s good.” He smiles again and Keith catches the flash of a name tag on his apron.

“Kale?” He frowns. “Like the -”  
“Like the vegetable, yup.” He laughs quietly with a shake of his head. “My parents were torn between Jeremiah and Kale but ultimately decided that Jeremiah was too biblical. So here I am: named after a vegetable.”

Keith shrugs. “Could be worse.”

Kale laughs at that, again. “I guess it could be.” He straightens up and peers at Keith more closely. “Wait a minute - I recognize you.”

“Yeah, I’ve, uh, been here before. Once.” Keith pushes his hair from his eyes, mentally reminding himself to search for a hair elastic when he’s out of here.

“Oh yeah! I remember you now.” He places his hands on his hips and tilts his head to the side. “Double shot Ristretto right?”

Keith blinks at him like he just solved the mystery behind time travel. Keith hasn’t been here in - what? A month? There’s no way he _actually_ remembers not only him but also his order. “Uh - yeah. But, um, not this time. I’ll just get a medium dark roast. Thanks.”

Kale nods and taps a few times at the computer screen before gesturing towards the machine. “Sounds good - it won’t be too long.” Keith pays then moves to tuck his wallet back into his bag but Kale calls out again. “Are those skates?”

Keith looks at him, confused, as Kale slowly fills a cup with dark coffee. “Uh - yeah.”

“So,” Kale pauses to point at some pitchers of cream and tubs of sugar beside the machine and Keith shakes his head, no. Kale continues on, reaching for a lid. “I guess you skate at Altea Arena, then. Early lesson this morning?”

Keith reaches across the counter towards the now extended cup of coffee and lets out a defeated sigh. “Yup.”

“You don’t seem too excited about it?”

Keith looks up at Kale, wiping a cloth across the counter and surveying him with a curious look. How is anyone this friendly and conversational with complete strangers? “Not - not really, no.”

“Ahh,” He nods like he understands. “Routine giving you trouble. I’ve heard all about it.”

“No, it’s not -” Keith frowns at him. Kale is talking to him like he’s known Keith for years which is - well, he isn’t sure if it’s strange or impressive, but it’s _something_ . He tries to match his friendliness at least a little bit. “I’m not _that_ kind of skater. It’s just - things are pretty tense between me and my fri- teacher right now so it’s awkward.”

“Hmm,” Kale slings the towel over his shoulder, thinking. “Well, in my experience, there’s nothing a good cup of coffee can’t fix. So -” He smiles brightly again. “What kind of drink do they like?”

Once again, Keith stares at him blankly. “I don’t -” What kind of drink _does_ Lance like? He doesn’t really know much about him outside of what happens in their lessons and that definitely doesn’t include his coffee order. “It’s fine. Really.”

“I’m serious,” Kale leans against the counter and observes the menu behind him. “Are they into sweet drinks? Something bold? Maybe they’re into tea?”

“I, uh,” Keith’s eyes flit across the menu, Italian words barely even registering in his mind. “I honestly don’t know.”

“Well, then. Let’s just go with something standard.” Kale pushes away, snatching up an empty cup as he goes, and stops in front of the jugs of brewed coffee. “Grab some of the packets of sugar and cream beside you - just in case they don’t take it black.”

Keith, still somewhat stunned and confused, looks at the small woven baskets to his left and grabs two packets of cream and a couple of sugars. _Wait_ , he pauses. _What if that’s not enough? Maybe he takes his coffee really sweet…_ He stares at the baskets for a few more seconds, checks to make sure Kale is focused on what he’s doing, before shoving several handfuls of sugar _and_ cream into his hoodie pockets. _That should be good. Right?_

“Here you go!” Kale chirps at him and Keith nearly jumps out of his skin. “I chose a medium roast so as not to go too heavy. This one has some fruity flavours to it, too, so it’s a nice mix of dark and light roasts.”

“Uh, yeah,” Keith takes the drink, staring down at it for a few seconds before something clicks in his brain. “Right - what do I owe you?”

Kale just scoffs and waves his hand in front of him. “Don’t sweat it: apology drinks are on the house.”

“I really don’t mind paying.”

“Well I do - so it’s not happening.” Kale rests his hands on his hips and nods towards the doors. “Anyways, you have a lesson to get to and I’ve got work to do so that’s that.”

Keith, both hands holding a cup, offers his best thankful smile and takes a few steps towards the front doors. “Thanks. Really.”

“You’re welcome. Now,” he shoos at him. “Go. And make sure to tell me how it goes.”

  


The parking lot is still pretty empty when Keith gets there, only a few cars lined up at the front curb that _definitely_ don’t belong to any of the tadpoles’ parents. It occurs to him that he isn’t even sure Lance is here yet. What is he supposed to do with this damn drink if he’s not here?

The inside of the arena is equally as empty but the door to the rink is propped open and Keith can hear familiar voices drifting out. Hunk and Pidge, for sure. Allura probably. But he can’t hear the sarcastic drawl of Lance’s voice. He tries not to notice the disappointment swelling in his chest as he makes his way down one of the main aisles to the edge of the ice. Hunk, Pidge, Shiro, and Allura are all on the ice this morning. Most of the time, only Shiro coaches them and leaves a lot of the solo work to Allura. He had very little experience as a solo skater, having jumped straight in as Allura’s partner, so it’s definitely not his forté. Keith has only seen her come to practice once and that was to help Shiro demonstrate proper technique for some of the more difficult parts of their routine.

“So,” he hears Shiro say once Keith reaches the end of the aisle. He’s almost completely covered from head to to, save for his face, a thick fleece sweater that zips all the way up to his chin and a dark, knitted hat pulled over his hair. He claps to gloved hands together and turns to face Hunk and Pidge who skid to a stop. “Your reverse lasso. The take off is just a little heavy and that’s really affecting the overall flow of the lift. Especially _your_ footwork, Hunk.” He extends out an arm and Allura slips her hand into his, long hair pulled into a high ponytail. She’s not quite as covered as his brother, choosing to forego the dark turtleneck in favour of a bright pink tank top.

“Pidge,” she adds before Shiro can pull them too far away from the pair. “Try to minimize your movements as you enter the lift. Maintain the speed but give yourself a few seconds to prepare because it seems like you’re rushing into it and that has a strong impact on yours _and_ Hunk’s stability.”

Pidge, arms crossed over their chest, nods. Hunk seems just as focused on Shiro and Allura skate, hands linked, down one curve of the rink. Eventually, they move into a smooth glide and Allura, back to Shiro, leans into him just as he crouches down and lifts her easily above his head. Shiro barely seems to notice that he’s holding a _grown woman_ above his head with _one hand_ and spins a few times before depositing her back down on the ice. He’s seen Hunk and Pidge perform moves like that but there’s just something _more_ to Shiro and Allura’s technique. If he didn’t have the coffee cups resting on the boards, he would have dropped them. The pair are about to make their way back when Allura catches his eye and calls out to him. The whole group turn to him and he suddenly feels very out of place. He offers them a small wave, coffee cup still in his hand.

“I didn’t expect to see you here this early!” Allura leaves Shiro’s side and slides in front of Keith. The rest of the group are quick to follow her lead, crossing the ice in no time.

Shiro glances up at the electronic clock on the far wall of the arena. “Your lesson isn’t for another forty five minutes.”

“Yeah, I know.” He blows a piece of hair from his face, hands occupied. _I really_ should _find that elastic._ He holds both cups out to Shiro, nodding at it. “Do you mind?”

He takes the extended cup and Allura grabs the other. “Two coffees? Look, I know early practices aren’t your thing but this seems a little excessive.”

Keith pulls his bag against his stomach and unzips the front pocket, digging around for the elastic he shoved in there earlier. He manages to find it relatively quickly and swipes his hair into a messy knot before reaching for the drinks again. “They’re not _both_ for me.”

Keith sees Pidge’s eyes narrow suspiciously but it isn’t them who pipes up next. Of course it isn’t. Instead of the teasing lull of their voice, he hears, not far behind him, that familiar sarcastic drawl.

“I see no one waited for me before starting the lesson?” Keith doesn’t have to turn around (can’t turn around, honestly) to see the smirk on Lance’s lips.

Now Pidge _does_ jump in, leaning against the boards with a flat out bored expression. “You’re almost two hours late.”

“I’d wait two hours for _you_.” Keith just barely turns around, enough to catch Lance’s exaggerated hurt look as he stares at them incredulously.

“No, you wouldn’t.” They deadpan.

“You’re right,” Lance grins. “I wouldn’t.”

It’s at that moment precisely, that Lance seems to realize Keith is there, too. His expression goes from soft and amused to closed off and downright cold. The coffee cups in Keith’s hands suddenly feel really stupid. Pointless. This whole thing was a bad idea.

“Why are you here?” Lance’s voice so flat when he addresses him. Keith almost wishes that he’d yell at him - it would be better than whatever this is. “Tadpole lessons don’t start for a while.”

“I -” Keith ducks his head, staring down at the slowly cooling coffee. He can’t exactly back out now, can he? What excuse does he have? What excuse can he _come up with_ in the next ten seconds that will sound at least somewhat convincing? Nothing. The answer is nothing. He purses his lips and stares pointedly at the floor. “I, uh, bought you coffee.”

  


Lance starts at that, eyebrows pulling together as he watches Keith fumble in front of him. “Coffee.”  
“Well,” Keith shrugs like he doesn’t care but Lance can see the nervous twitch in the movement. “I didn’t actually pay for it. The barista gave it to me for free. But I still - I mean - it’s for you.”

He thrusts the cup out towards him and a few drops of dark coffee spill out onto his hand. Lance looks at it. Looks a Keith. Raises an eyebrow. Then slowly takes it from him.

“I didn’t know what you drink so I just -” Lance brings the cup to his lips, still somewhat cautious, as Keith seems to momentarily forget how the English language works. “- guessed.”

 _God_ , he’s bad at this.

Lance takes one short sip before visibly grimacing from the taste. It was so bitter, so sharp. He doesn’t even drink liquor this strong. He stares at Keith in unabashed disgust. “What even _is_ this?”

Keith stares, panicked, for a few seconds before he looks down at the pockets of his sweatshirt, which Lance notices are full of -- something. “Oh,” he jams his hands into his pockets and pulls out at least fifteen packs of sugar and cream, extending them out towards Lance. “I brought these. You know, just in case.”

Lance, almost offended that he’d offer him _plain coffee,_ stares down at the overflowing mountain of cream and sugar like he’s offering him a pile of literal shit. “What the hell is this even _about_?”

Keith flinches, actually flinches, and pulls his hands closer to him. “I just - I don’t know.” He heaves in a deep breath and finally meets Lance’s eyes. “Look, I already said it but: I really am sorry. I did something - don’t know what it was - but it pissed you off and I’m sorry for it.”

Lance isn’t having any of this. “Hmm, but wasn’t I being - oh, what was it….” Lance flicks his hands in the air, like he’s searching for the words. “Pompous? Self-righteous? You’ll have to remind me what it is you said, exactly, ‘cause my memory is a little foggy.”

“Well, I just -” Keith scoffs and shakes his head, any semblance of patience disappearing out the window. “Do you want the drink of not?”

He’s just about to tell him to forget about it, to just not bother trying to fix things ‘cause they can’t be fixed, when he catches sight of Shiro, leaning just into view over Keith’s right shoulder. He doesn’t need even to say anything, the ‘ _Come on, Lance’_ is so blatantly obvious. Lance frowns at him and Hunk pops into view of Keith’s other shoulder, eyes narrowed in a silent warning. He doesn’t want to. Doesn’t want to work through this or talk about it or any of that other therapist-talk they gave him over the years. But honestly, he’s worried that Shiro might _actually_ kill him - if his expression is anything to go by.

Lance heaves out a long and dramatic sigh, well aware that he’s acting like a child. “ _Fine_ .” And snatches three packets of cream and a solid handful of sugar from Keith’s still somewhat extended hands. “But you owe me a _good_ drink next time. None of this nasty bitter crap.” He pushes past him and places his drink in the cup holder of a nearby stand to add in the sugar and cream.

“Uh,” Keith starts. “O….kay...?”

“And _you’re paying,_ ” Lance pops the lid onto his drink and straightens up, shrugging his jacket into the seats. “Lessons start soon. Let’s get to work.”

  


The routine Shiro made for them isn’t difficult - well, it _shouldn’t_ be difficult.

Keith can perform all the moves (even a wobbly waltz jump) on their own but, as soon as they’re placed together, it’s like he’s starting all over again. Transitioning between the different chunks of the routine seem to be Keith’s biggest problem and it’s definitely not helping that Lance still won’t skate with him. He stands a few paces away from him, talking him through the routine and occasionally shouting out corrections, but he makes no moves to join him. Despite this being a _pairs_ routine.

For the first part of the lesson, it was like he was being forced to work with Keith. He was stiff, face a mixture of annoyance and discomfort, and didn’t really respond to Keith when he tried for idle conversation. As time went on, though, he slowly eased back into someone Keith at least _kind of_ recognized. Lance was acting normally again - for the most part, at least. Distant and definitely quieter than usual, but nothing like he was last week. While things were still tense between them, Keith would occasionally catch hints of a teasing quirk of the eyebrow when Keith would really fuck up. It was at his expense, but he’d take it.

He tried to pay attention, tried to work through the routine that he a week to learn, but he was too focused on Lance’s face, tripping over his own feet more times than he should at this point. Lance would scowl every time, unamused, but Keith didn’t mind too much. _Really_ didn’t mind when he made some stupid joke - so stupid he can’t even remember was it was - and Lance had _smiled_. It’s muted, and not nearly as bright as it usually was, but it’s there and Keith feels like his chest might burst.

But then the lesson is over, Shiro calling them over to talk about the day of the “performance”. Lance slides in beside him, arms crossed, and listens to whatever Shiro is saying with a blank expression. Keith tries not to think too hard about how close he’s standing and how much more comfortable he looks, shoulders lax as he stretches his neck to one side. He fails, of course, and misses ninety percent of what Shiro says.

He _doesn’t_ , however, miss his closing “Alright! Good luck and see you next week!” before he sends the kids skating off towards their parents.

It’s then that it suddenly occurs to Keith that - despite having just gone through several run-throughs of it - he doesn’t know the routine at all. This was the last lesson. Last lesson of the tadpole classes and of the routine rehearsal. This was _it_. And yet he barely remembers a quarter of the routine, let alone actually be able to skate it.

 _Fuck_.

“Anyways,” Lance sighs, breaking Keith’s silent panic, and turns to face him. “Shiro has arranged for Allura to skate the routine with you so make sure to talk to her before you leave. I probably won’t be here for the performance next week, I’ve got some other stuff I gotta work on.” He purses his lips as if he’s uncertain of how to continue, glancing over his shoulder to the stands where Hunk and Pidge have now emerged. “Well -- I should get going. Good luck, I guess.”

He’s only just pushed away from him when Keith reaches out, fingers wrapping around his wrist and pulling him to a stop. Lance stares down at his hand for a few seconds then up at Keith, who realizes he can probably let go now. With more effort than what should be necessary, he pries his hand away, relinquishing his grip on Lance’s arm.

“Uh,” Keith stutters as he watches Lance slowly pull his arm back to his side, expression unreadable. “I just -” Once again, the words evade him and he’s left to stammer out a few more words then stop entirely, staring blankly at him.

Lance just sighs, long and slow. “What.”

“I don’t really -” Keith looks off to the right, mumbling out the words one by one. “ _Know_ the routine.”

“What do you mean you ‘don’t know the routine’?” Lance glares at him. “I just taught it to you!”

“This is all new to me, okay! I’ve never had to learn a routine before so excuse me for not being good at it.” Keith ignores the roll of Lance’s eyes and continues on. “I need more practice.”

“Then practice!” Lance shrugs at him. “This isn’t _my_ problem so I don’t know what you want me to do about it.”

“One more lesson.” Keith says it before he can convince himself not to and Lance’s reaction tells him he really should have. He pushes on. “One more practice - that’s all I need.”

Lance scoffs. “And I’m supposed to help you with this?”

“Well -”

“ _Oh no_ ,” Lance holds his hands up. “I did my job. This is all on you now.”

He turns away, then and Keith follows. “Lance.” Keith tries to catch his eye but he’s ignoring him. “Come on - all I’m asking is for one more lesson. That’s all.”

Lance glares at him from the corner of his eye. “One more lesson?” Keith nods. “Alright then,” Lance comes to an abrupt stop in front of him, eyes determined as he stares Keith down. “Then admit that you need my help. Say: ‘Lance, you are the best skater I’ve ever seen and are the only one that can help me.’”

“You’re kidding me,” Keith skids to a halt in front of him, frowning intensely.

“I am one hundred percent serious.” Lance smiles and this time it’s _real_. It’s not dulled or dimmer this time - it nearly knocks this wind out of him with its intensity. Especially when shadowed by the previous forced smiles.

But Keith’s stubborn, and this is just catering to Lance’s ego at this point.

“Lance,” he rolls his eyes. “Honestly -”

Lance just holds up a hand, stopping him, and starts to skate away once more. “Have fun at the recital, Keith.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa -” Keith follows, pushing in front of him and cutting of his path, but Lance easily side steps him and continues on his way. He ignores all of Keith’s attempts at stopping him, focused on the door to the rink only a mere ten feet away now. Keith groans and covers his face with a hand. At least, he caves. “ _Fine_.” He groans.

Lance pauses, head turning slightly over his shoulder. “Yes?”

“You -” Keith cross his arms and lowers his voice to an incoherent mumblr. “Arethebestatkeri’veeeverseen.”

“I’m sorry,” Lance holds a hand up to his ear, turning slightly in Keith’s direction. “What was that?”

Keith drags out a long sigh, still unhappy. “You are the best skater I’ve ever seen.”

“And -?” Lance tilts his head expectantly.

“And….” Keith glares at him. “I need your help.”

“Hmm,” Lance places a hand on his chin. “I don’t think that’s _exactly_ what I said.”

Keith throws his hands up at him. “Come _on_ , dude! Cut me some slack already!”

With a full-on smile, Lance peers over his shoulder at him, eyes shining. For the first time all day, Keith sees the person he’s gotten to know these past six weeks and it’s a relief. To see those bright eyes and to hear that teasing drawl. It sets his heart at ease and he honestly doesn’t care about all the pokes made at his expense.

“I _guess_ that’s good enough,” Lance props his hands up on his waist and grins broadly. “Friday. 8pm. That’s all I can give you. After that, it’s up to you.” He doesn’t give Keith the chance to respond, just glides towards the rink doors in one smooth movement. He holds a hand up, not even bothering to turn around. “Oh! And this time you owe me some _real coffee_.”

Keith moves to follow him, rolling his eyes. “That _was_ real coffee.”

“Excuse me,” Lance throws himself onto one of the rafter seats and reaches for his laces. “But _who_ is the one sacrificing all his free time to teach some newbie tadpole?” Keith stares at him, unimpressed, but his grin only grows. “You owe me a drink regardless of what you want to call it.”

Any other time, Keith would argue with him - bicker for the sake of bickering - but this time, he holds back. Once again, he has no idea what he did, what it is that fixed everything that went wrong last week, but he won’t question it. Not when Lance is smiling to freely and openly at him, and Keith’s heart feels like it might burst in his chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can reach us at wardenalistair and soottea on tumblr. If you post things about the fic please tag us and also "fic: on thin ice" so we see it! :)
> 
> me: /asks other fic authors how long their chapters usually are  
> them: oh about 6 or 7 pages each.  
> them: why? how long are yours?  
> me: /sweatS A LOT  
> me: oh you know… the sAME.
> 
> Side note: please look up a layback spin and imagine lance performing one. You’re welcome.


	5. Ice of You to Drop By

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL HOLY SMOKES YOU GUYS  
> this thing just keeps on growing and I can't even begin to articulate how we feel about it. At least once a day we're like "BRUH CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS IS HAPPENING" and we always answer "NO WTF IM SO ???????????????". Or something along those lines, ya know?
> 
> As always, thank you thank you thank you for the continued support and we hope you stick with us on this journey :) As a reward for making it through the angsty mess of the previous chapters, here's some fluff :))))))))) (/snickers)  
> Emily (author & co-creator) is wardenalistair on tumblr  
> Bronwyn (artist & co-creator) is soottea on tumblr  
> BTW - if you post about OTI or want us to see your art, tag it as fic: on thin ice please! We would LOVE to see them!

The fitting with Shay had taken longer than anticipated (well, I mean, that’s to be expected when Lance had ripped open a whole seam but that’s not important) so he had waved down a taxi instead of the usual subway trip. Forty dollars and several awkward conversations later, he pushes open the doors to the rink, skates slung over his shoulder. Keith is skating lazy, circles in the middle of the ice, hands held out on either side of him, and it occurs to Lance that he’s actually starting to look like a _real_ skater. Six weeks ago, he have never thought it was possible, and yet here he stands, correct.

Lance plunks himself down on a bench and pulls his skates on with deft fingers just as Keith’s head turns towards him, finally noticing his arrival.

“You - “ Keith pushes himself towards the boards as he talks, hands still slightly outstretched. “ - are so damn late.”

“I’m not _that_ late, come on.”

“Oh really?” Keith leans against the boards and raises an eyebrow at him, nodding his chin to where his own bag is lying. “Your coffee - that you _made_ me buy - is cold.”

“Well, that’s not _my_ fault.” Keith rolls his eyes, small smile on his lips, and Lance continues. “Either way, you’re lucky I’m even here at all.” He gives his laces one last tug before moving onto the next skate. “I had a fitting with our designer that ran a little late, but I’m here now, so calm down, dude.”

“That’s easy to say when you’re not the one with an examination in a few days.” Keith cross his arms across his chest and huffs. “I’m gonna flunk and both Shiro _and_ my coach will kill me. I can see the newspaper headlines now.”

Smirking, Lance pushes himself to his feet and puts on his best newscaster voice. “ _Local hockey player found dead on ice rink, skates shoved up ass.”_

“You’re disgusting,” Keith scowls at him as he skates past, their arms just barely brushing when he does.

“Yeah, yeah. Tell me something I haven’t already heard a hundred times.” He pivots on his heels, shoving his hands in his pockets as he skates backwards away from Keith. “Let’s get started, Tadpole.”

Keith just rolls his eyes but doesn’t bless Lance with a response, and slowly makes his way over, legs pushing across the ice in slow, fluid movements.. Lance shifts his weight to the edge of his skate and comes to a scraping halt just as Keith catches up with him. His technique has improved since he started - dramatically improved, in fact. His steadily increasing skill combined with his natural speed on the ice has the potential to be damn impressive. Lance knows very little about hockey, he’ll be honest. Other than fist fights and bulky uniforms, the sport is a complete mystery to him. He _does_ , however, know that hockey players are fast. One second they’re on the other half of the ice, the next they’re on your ass and slamming you headfirst into the boards. It was kind of terrifying. If Keith had all the experience Lance had and combined it with his natural strength and speed, he’d be at the top of the leader board _for sure_.

Keith doesn’t come to the same dramatic stop as he did, just slowly glides in a half arc in front of Lance before tapping his ice pick with a quiet scrape and lifting his face to look at him. He folds his arms over his chest and waits.

“Alright,” Lance starts, pulling his scarf from around his neck and jamming it into his vest pocket. “Do you at least remember how the routine starts?”

Keith drops his gaze, pursing his lips, and just shrugs. “I mean, I know that I’m supposed to --” He pauses, thinking, before he shakes his head. “No. No, I don’t.”  

Lance heaves out a heavy sigh, running a hand over his face. “ _Great_.”

 _This was going to be a looooong evening_.

 

This lesson wasn’t like the rest of their lessons - mainly due to the whole ‘pairs skating’ thing.

The last time he “skated” with him, it was for a only a minute and there wasn’t any choreography to follow. This time, though, he refuses to actually skate as his pair no matter how many time he asks for it, saying it “will help him learn”. Lance demonstrates Allura’s side of the routine but that’s it. No matter what Shiro thinks or says, it’s just -- he won’t do it.

Keith was struggling with a full routine, that much was clear. At first, he took Lance’s corrections seriously, humming thoughtfully as he analyzed his steps and compared them to Lance’s. It worked for the simpler moves and transitions, but then they moved onto the more difficult moves, the new ones that Keith had less practice with, and _that’s_ when he got frustrated. Lance’s suggestions and corrections were met with snappy retorts and annoyed glares instead of actual consideration. And, even though he reminds Keith several times that he’s his teacher and Keith will sometimes have to take his criticisms if he wants to _pass his fucking exam_ . This, unsurprisingly, didn’t help the situation and only served to make Keith even _more_ on edge. Lance was slowly losing his patience.

Factor in his distaste for partner skating and you’ve got a recipe for disaster.

 

Now, Lance skates a few feet beside Keith as he claps out the beat and shouts directions at him, both of them sporting some pretty intense frowns.

“Let’s try your two different jump lead ups. Pick up some speed then use your mohawk to change feet before pushing off into your jump,” Lance spins on his heels and skates backwards in front of Keith, trying to get him to match his speed and clapping louder to edge him on. Keith makes it through the mohawk without a problem and moves into his jump lead up. Lance continues. “Okay, good. Let’s start with something easy. Try the same thing, mohawk then edge into your bunny hop.” Lance watches as Keith goes through the motions and lands into a smooth glide. “See? Not so bad.”

Keith’s frown deepens as he eases in beside him. “That’s not really the part I’m struggling with, Lance.”

“We’re working up to it, alright.” Lance gestures out to the ice. “Let’s try something else, then. This time, start with the same mohawk and build up but then move into your waltz jump.”

This time, his mohawk isn’t nearly as clean and he seems to hold up on his crossovers, which leads him into a weak jump that brings him barely two inches off the ice. He seems to know this, too, not bothering to look at Lance when he skids in beside him.

“Really?” Lance huffs and Keith rolls his eyes. “You aren’t picking up enough speed before the jump.”

Keith finally looks up at him, anger just starting to break through his composure. “If I go any faster, I’ll fall.”

“No - you won’t.” Lance, as if to prove his point, moves into a set of fast crossovers and pushes off into an effortless waltz jump. He holds his back leg up, parallel to the ice, until he reaches Keith’ s side where he spins to an abrupt stop.“The momentum will lead you _through_ the jump and into the next move. On the ice, speed is your friend.”

“I don’t think you’re a good point of reference, Lance.” Keith seems unimpressed with Lance’s sudden show of skill, his face even more stubborn than before.

“Ugh,” Lance groans and pushes away from him once more. “Whatever - I’m not going to argue with you when I’m right. Let’s just move onto your spins. Try a forward inside pivot then move into a lunge.”

Although unhappy, Keith does as he’s told, shifting his weight to his right foot as he places his left toe into the ice. Painfully slowly, he pushes out with his right foot, lowering his hips towards the ice, and turning around the pivot of his left toe pick. Just as his spin starts to become more fluid his bent knee buckles and he nearly topples over onto the ice, just barely catching himself with his hand before he hurts himself.

“Your knee.” Lance gestures towards him as Keith pushes himself to his feet to try again. “Your knee is turned too far in when you spin and it’s throwing off your balance. Push it out more.”

“It _is_ pushed out.” Keith says through clenched teeth as he moves back into position, turning in a slow, awkward circle.

“Dude, I am literally looking at it _right now_ and your knee is too - far - in.” Lance shakes his head and slides over to him, clamping a hand around his knee and forcing it up towards the ceiling. “Like _this_. Keep your knee up or you’ll face plant when you push out into a lunge.”

“You don’t know that,” Keith mutters, adjusting his stance.

“Yes, I do. Because that’s what happens _every damn time_.” Lance wipes a hand down his face. “Look, if you want my help, you have to learn to admit that when it comes to this -” He gestures at the entirety of the rink. “ - I know what I’m doing.”

Keith glares at him and the just-barely there anger flares. “Then, stop being such an ass.”

“You know what, I don’t care,” Lance folds his arms over his chest. “Just try the transition between the pivot and the lunge again.”

Keith rolls his eyes, defiance practically oozing from him as he raises his arms and slowly picks up speed on his turn. It is by no means a pretty sight but at least this time it’s in good form, so Lance keeps his mouth shut. However, towards the end of Keith’s fifth turn, his weights shifts and pulls his knee inward. Lance is just about to shout out a correction when he stops himself with a huff.

 _You know what,_ Lance thinks. _I’ll just let this happen_.

Keith manages to make a few more shaky spins, arms outstretched beside him, and even has Lance convinced he’ll make it, but then he’s standing more upright, pushing off with his right left into what should be a low lunge. Instead, he wobbles, ankle turning under his front foot and his balance breaks.

 

And so does his nose.

Lance doesn’t even have enough time to react before he hears the crack. It’s not quite the same as breaking an arm or a leg (something he is, unfortunately, quite familiar with), but he very quickly realizes that seeing someone’s crooked nose gush blood onto the pristine ice of a rink isn’t really a picnic either.

Keith, whose hands were just slightly too slow to catch his fall, rolls over on the ice and clutches at his face.

“You’ve got to be kidding me! You - ” He sits upright as the blood flows even more steadily onto his pants and fixes Lance with a glare. “You should have done something!”

Lance places his hands on his hips. “If I remember correctly, I _did_ , in fact, inform you of your inevitable makeout session with the ice. It’s not my fault you chose to ignore me.”

“UGH,” Keith, still clutching at his bleeding face, starts tugging at the laces of his skates with his one free hand. “I knew this was a bad idea from the _start_ . I should have never listened to Shiro about his stupid figure skating classes, about how it would ‘help me’. I should have -” He tries to push one skate off his foot but just ends up smearing the cracked leather with streaks of blood. “I should -” Lance sees the well of frustrated tears in Keith’s eyes before he furiously wipes at them. “Ugh - ! Can I just - just -” He grabs hold of the blade and starts to pull, wincing when he squeezes too hard on the blade.  “Get - these - things - _off  - ME_!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Lance kneels down beside him, stilling his hands with his own. “Whoa, just - calm down. It was just one jump!”

“No - You don’t get it!” Keith glares again at him with anger boiling in his eyes. Something tells Lance that this anger isn’t entirely directed towards him but it’s ferocity makes him jump. “It’s not just _one move_ \- it’s everything! I can’t _do_ this! Everyone keeps telling me I just have keep trying and keep practicing but why the fuck should I keep trying when all that happens is shit like this?!” Keith gestures wildly towards his face with his free hand and the blood dripping past his lips onto his chin, then continues with his frantic speech. “I am _done_ \- one hundred percent _done_ \- with this bullshit!”

Lance watches as Keith’s chest heaves with heavy and tries to figure out what the right thing to say is. Sure, he was having trouble with the routine but it was nothing different than the rest of his lessons? He struggled, just like every other student Lance has taught, but it definitely didn’t warrant this reaction.

Keith heaves in a sigh and, when he continues, it’s a fraction of the volume, his aggressive anger having already disappeared. “I thought I could _actually_ do this but I’m not. Maybe I’m not good enough after all?”

 

See, Lance has never really been _bad_ at figure skating. Sure, he was a beginner once too, but he picked up on things quickly. And, in all honesty, skating was more natural to him than walking was. He landed his first lutz before Allura even introduced it in class (he got shit for it later but man was it worth it) and would even spy on the older students’ lessons so he could learn the more advanced techniques. There weren’t many things Lance was good at, so when he finally found his place - he made sure to hold on tight and never, _ever_ let go.

Lance looks at Keith, now - teeth clenched, fingers shaking, visible tension rippling just beneath the surface - and feels the first pricks of sympathy in his gut. It’s true that Lance had never struggled when he first started with this sport, but frustration and failure - that he knew.

They were old friends of his.

“Hey,” Lance’s hand, he realizes, hasn’t moved from Keith’s. He briefly thinks he should feel embarrassed by it, but pushes the thought aside and slowly moves his fingers to the laces on Keith’s skates. “I know how you feel.” He feels more so than sees Keith’s pointed scowl telling him he doesn’t believe him. “No really, I do. I know what it feels like to feel like a complete failure. It’s like - like the rug’s pulled out from underneath you, right? And you’re suddenly in free fall, screaming at the top of your lungs but no one really notices. It’s not graceful falling either, but the kind where you’ve got some fucking stupid look on your face - y’know, where you lips flap in the wind? It’s like - you just - “ Lance lets out a long whistle followed by an exaggerated explosion sound, twirling a finger in the air. He slides one skate off of Keith’s foot and looks up at him, who stares blankly at him. “Right?”

Keith, no longer nearly as rattled, blinks slowly at him. “Uh,” he opens and closes his mouth a few times before he finally manages to answer him. “Right...?”

“All I’m saying,” Lance reaches for his second skate and deftly unties the knot with one hand. “Is that I _do_ get it. You do everything you can: get up at 5 am every morning, repeat the same moves over and over again, work yourself past the point of being healthy, and yet, you _still_ fail. People keep telling you that you just gotta ‘push through’. That eventually all your hard work will pay off. But, why would you do that when even that leads you to face plant into the ice?” This time he _does_ see the scowl Keith shoots him, but it’s slightly less aggressive than the last and is mixed with some other emotion Lance can’t quite place so he continues. “The only thing I can say.... is when you finally get it - land that jump, nail that lift, clean up that transition - when you finally succeed…” Lance slips the skate off around Keith’s heel and lowers his foot to the ice, shooting him a grin. “It feels _so fucking good_.”

Several seconds pass as the two boys stare at each other in silence. Lance has never been very good at pep talks - never been good at receiving them, either - and he starts to feel the early churnings of nervous self-consciousness in his chest as his words hang heavy above them. Keith has barely moved, eyes glued to Lance’s in disbelief. His fingers fidget as he seems to mull things over in his mind but, still, he remains silent.

Eventually, the silence becomes too much for Lance’s anxiety so he adds, his voice lighter than before. “Either way, what other option do you have than to work through it? Quit?” Lance is reminded of all the times Shiro has talked him down from whatever ledge he dragged himself onto and the encouraging smile he always gave him. He tries to mimic it and finds it easier than expected, warmth pooling in his chest. “Sorry Keith, but I don’t think you’re the quitting type.”

Finally - _finally_ \- Keith reacts, a small smile tugging at his lips, and he pulls his hand away to run it through his hair. “No, I guess -- I guess I’m not.” As he lowers his hand, he pauses to press gently at the bridge of his nose, wincing slightly and hissing breath through his teeth.

For the second time that night, Lance reaches for Keith’s hand, guiding them away from his face so he can inch closer to inspect. Feet tucked under him, he leans forward and stares at the broken line of his nose, fingers hovering where Keith’s once were. He looks at him, eyebrows raised, to see if he objects, but Keith either does care or doesn’t know how to react, lips parted and eyes wide. Lance’s fingers just barely graze the swollen skin, tracing the blooming bruise building under his eye, and tries _very hard_ to focus on his injuries and _not_ the deep gray-blue of his eyes.

It definitely doesn’t look good but it’s also definitely not the worst Lance has seen. He’ll live.

Lance leans back slightly and allows himself to actually make eye contact this time, dropping his hand to his lap. Keith has barely changed expressions this whole time - his eyes still wide, lips still parted - but now Lance swears that, somewhere underneath all that blood, Keith’s cheeks are dusted in the faintest pink.

It succeeds in making Lance turn into a fumbling mess, his heart hammering in his chest as he stands up and does his best to ignore the tightness in his chest. Keith just watches him go, his own hand reaching up to cup his nose but not following his lead.

Lance coughs, jamming his hand into his vest pocket and dragging out his scarf from earlier which he then offers out to him. “Your face looks like shit, by the way.” He stutters. “It’s all swollen and bloody.”

With that, Keith finally snaps out of his stupor, and Lance watches as his expression flips from dazed to annoyed in less than a second and he snatches the scarf from his extended hand.

“ _Really?_ ” He grabs for his skates, abandoned on the ice, and slings them over his shoulder. “Just when I think you’re finally -” The end of his sentence is cut off when he puts one foot under him but finds he can’t quite keep his balance, falling backwards onto his butt again.

Lance rolls his eyes, but still reaches out for Keith’s arm to lift him up, and with one smooth movement, he has both of them up their feet, Keith gripping his forearm as he finds his footing. Lance smirks down at him. “I’m finally what?”

For a split second, Keith’s annoyed looks falters. He purses his lips as he contemplates something but whatever thought he has doesn’t last long because, before Lance can even react, Keith has stepped away and started his wobbly walk to the side of the rink.

“I was _going_ to say: you’re finally going to stop being such a jerk, but apparently you’re incapable of being a decent human being for more than three seconds.” Keith holds the scarf to his nose and doesn’t bother looking back to make sure Lance is following.

“Hey!” Lance glides in front of him, elegantly skating backwards ahead of him as he continues on. “Who spent the whole night helping you with your routine? Who just talked you out of your bad mood? Who’s about to accompany your sorry ass to the hospital?” He gestures expectantly to himself. “This ‘jerk’ right here!”

“To the what?” Keith demands, his free hand holding onto the boards and steps off the ice, following Lance’s lead through the door.

“Dude, you are bleeding all over my _expensive llama wool scarf_ , your face looks like it was run over by the zamboni, and - most importantly - Shiro will _actually_ kill me if he finds out I let you go alone.” He tears his skates off with in record speed and chucks them in his waiting gym bag, shrugging defeatedly. “I have no choice.”

“Wow. I can really feel the love, Lance.” Keith sits down on the bench as he reaches for his boots after tucking his own skates away.

Lance swings his bag over his shoulder and laughs. “Oh, shush. Put your coat on and let’s get going. I have practice at 6:30 tomorrow morning and we’ll be in the ER for _at least_ five hours.” Keith reaches for his own bag but Lance waves him off, snagging it from him before nodding for him to head towards the rink entrance. “And I don’t know about you but I want to at least _sleep_ before then.”

* * *

Taking the train with a _very_ broken nose is an experience to say the least.

It probably would have been worse if it wasn’t so late in the day so at least that’s one good thing that happened today. Honestly, he has trouble staying pleasant after having his nose snapped back into place and being lectured by the doctor about how he should ‘be thankful it was only a small fracture’. _Yeah, whatever you say doc._

It had occurred to both of them, after an excruciatingly long wait to see a doctor, that they weren’t going to get a good night’s rest. It was past two in the morning when Keith suggests that Lance stay at his place to save him the long commute home. He had been unsure at first, complaining that he didn’t have any of his overnight stuff with him, but had caved shortly after realizing there was a solid hour long difference between the trip between their places.

And _that’s_ how he ends up leading Lance through the dark entrance hallway of his apartment building, feeling like he could pass out at any second. He jiggles his key in the lock and slams his shoulder into the door twice to open it.

 _“Holy shit,_ dude.”

Lance has stopped, staring incredulously, in Keith’s doorway. Keith turns to look at him and his disbelief, bag already dropped on the floor and one shoe removed. He looks between Lance’s face and his apartment a few times, not quite understanding but all the while feeling somewhat embarrassed.

“What?”

“Is _this_ ,” Lance takes one step inside and peers around. “Where you live?”

“Uhhh,” Keith furrows brow. “Yes?”

“ _It’s tiny_.”

Keith shrugs and removes his second shoe, flinging it against the wall beside the door with a dull thud. “There’s only me here - I don’t really need a huge apartment.”

“But,” Lance steps fully inside, now, swinging the door shut behind him, but keeping his bag clutched to his chest. “Where do you sit?” He examines Keith’s couch-bed uncertainly. “Where do _I_ sit?”

“On the couch?” Keith demonstrates by flopping down on it and peeling off his sweatshirt - which gets tossed somewhere across the room.

“Okay but - where do you eat?” Lance continues to cross the single room that is his apartment, slowly taking in the mountains of unorganized books and discarded clothing that Keith should, in theory, clean up.

Lance’s scrutiny has only increased his embarrassment and he suddenly feels kind of inadequate. Keith scratches at the back of his neck, gesturing once more to the couch. “On the couch…”

Lance finally turns to face him and blinks slowly once, like he doesn’t quite understand what’s happening here. “Where,” he starts, voice quiet. “Do you _sleep._ ”

“On….” Keith crosses his arms across his chest and rest his chin in one of his hands, unable to hold his gaze any longer. “…. the couch.”

Lance, stunned, wades over to him in a daze, falling down beside Keith and leans his head against the back of the couch. Keith follows him with his eyes, turning his face in his hand when he leans just outside of his eyesight, and watches as Lance slowly looks at him with empty eyes.

“I knew that people lived like this,” he gestures out towards Keith’s pathetic apartment. “But I never thought I’d _meet_ one.”

“Hey,” Keith warns.

“Well, actually,” Lance purses his lips, thinking as he turns away for a second to sweep his gaze across the expanse of his room once more. “This explains a lot about you.”

“Like what?”

Lance turns back at him, completely deadpan. “You have a mullet, Keith.”

Keith stares at him for half a second then, not missing a single beat, grabs the pillow at the end of the couch and slams it square in his face.

Lance, having reacted too slow, has to pry it from Keith’s fingers, turning his face away to escape Keith’s attempts to smother him. “It’s _true!_ It is the 21st century with hundreds of different hairstyles at your disposal and you chose _that one_? Dude.”

Keith doesn’t respond, just leans over Lance and presses the pillow harder into his face. Lance’s protests disappear underneath it and morph into incoherent, indignant mumbling. Lance’s hand finds his wrist and tries to yank him away but it ends up throwing off Keith’s balance, sending him toppling forward against the pillow and Lance’s chest, which, in turn, sends a spike of pain into his swollen nose and under eye. Lance, obviously assuming that Keith did this on purpose, takes this as an invitation to full on _wrestle_ Keith off of him, leg swinging up and over his hip.

“Lance - uh -“ Keith relinquishes his hold on the pillow, which Lance bats away easily and seizes Keith’s other hand in his own. He’s trying to back out of this, knowing _instantaneously_ that this is a very. bad. idea., but Lance doesn’t notice - too focused on kicking his ass.

All in one smooth movement, Lance yanks Keith’s arms down to his sides and bucks his hips up to roll him over. Keith, before he can even realize it, is flipped onto his back in a matter of seconds.

Except for the small fact that Keith’s couch is barely big enough to fit one person and he was literally just flipped _off_ of the one person on it, which all means he’s been physically tossed off the couch towards the ground. He reaches out blindly, his fingers finding the collar of Lance’s jacket and pulling him down with him. His head hits the corner of the coffee table and he lands, _hard,_ on the ground, air whooshing out of his lungs at all once, followed by Lance landing on _Keith_. He wheezes in a desperate attempt to breathe again while Lance rights himself, his thighs pressed against either side of Keith’s hips and palms flat on his chest.

 _That_ certainly doesn’t help Keith’s fight for air.

It takes a few seconds but he somehow sucks in a ragged breath, staring up at Lance’s now-concerned expression.

“Are you okay?” He doesn’t remove his hands nor does he climb off of his lap.

_Nope, not okay. Not at all._

Keith nods weakly, slowly regulating his breathing, and stares up at him dumbly. He should reply but a dazed ‘ _whoa’_ is all he manages.

“I have a lot of siblings. You learn how to defend yourself at a young age.” Lance just shrugs. “Obviously Shiro never taught you basic fighting skills ‘cause I just handed your ass to you.”

Keith should answer, he really should, but he’s too fixated on the slow drag of Lance’s hands down his chest and across his stomach as he slowly sits back on Keith’s hips, staring down at him with a victorious smirk.

_Innocent thoughts, Keith. Innocent thoughts._

“Seriously, though,” Lance tilts his head at him. “You’re okay?”

Keith nods, mainly to give him time to sort out an answer from all the jumbled thoughts in his head. “I think? I mean, I’m alive I guess.”

“You hit your head pretty hard there,” Lance remarks.

“Oh yeah?” Keith snorts. “And whose fault is that?”

“You were trying to suffocate me!”

Keith just rolls his eyes. “Only after you insulted both me _and_ my house.” Lance’s head turns to the side, his attention caught by something else, but Keith continues anyways. “Honestly, you’re lucky I’m even letting you stay here after the shit you pulled. What I _should_ be d-“

Lance holds up a hand at him and shushes him.  

“ _Really?_ ” Keith swats his hand away. “You don’t get to shush me after all of that! You’re _kidding_ me right? This is _my_ hou-”

“ _SHH,”_ Lance waves in his face this time, more insistent in his shushing. “Shut it for a few seconds - I think I hear something.”

Keith pauses then, still acutely aware of Lance’s weight pressing down on his hips, and listens. His upstairs neighbours aren’t particularly loud but occasionally they have friends over and keep him up until the early morning hours. Tonight didn’t seem like one of those nights, though, his apartment was mainly silent safe for their slow breathing and the heavy pounding of Keith’s heartbeat in his ears. He cranes his neck from side to side, listening, but comes up short even then - there’s nothing to be heard.

“Uhm?” Keith shifts up onto his elbows (which he soon realizes is a mistake, as it brings Lance’s still-extended hand dangerously close to his lips) and clears his throat. “I don’t know what you hear but there’s nothing there.”

Lance leans his weight to one knee and looks over his shoulder, still intent on something Keith can’t pick out. Suddenly, he gasps and whips towards Keith once more, eyes sparkling.

“Is it raining?” This is the most excited Keith has ever seen him and it catches him off guard.

“Uhh,” he peers around Lance to the window against his far wall. “I don’t know? Maybe?”

Lance doesn’t even bother answering him, just swings off of Keith’s lap and literally launches himself towards the window - which is only about two or three feet away - and slams his hands on the glass which is followed shortly by his nose. Keith tries to pretend he isn’t hyper focused

“It _is_!” Not wasting a single second, he begins fumbling with the latch, yanking at it violently until it gives and he can stick his hand out into the cold autumn night.

“Hey!” Keith sits fully upright now crossing his legs underneath of him as he watches Lance stare in awe out of his open window. There’s a brief moment where Keith thinks he might stick his whole head out the window and he worries for his sanity.

“It _never_ rains this late in the year!” He turns his hand over in the rain to catch the water droplets.

“Not usually, no,” Keith’s voice loses his edge as Lance visibly relaxes in front of him, a long sigh pulled from his lips. “But it’s… kind of cold out.”

Keith’s comments go unnoticed, though - their unusual winter seemingly more important and more interesting to Lance. The quiet hush of rainfall is floating into his apartment now and a strange calm washing over Keith as he watches Lance breathe in a heavy lungful of air. Each slow breath released what little tension was in his shoulders and the person Lance saw on the train last week appears before him once more - open, true, and so achingly human. He doesn’t even need to see his face to see the pure bliss coating his expressions, it rolls off of him in waves. Eventually, he pulls his hand away and sits back onto his heels, arms folded on the window sill so he can rest his chin there while he observes the dark streets of Keith’s neighbourhood. A car, muffler definitely broken, rolls down his road and the sound slowly grows then fades once more, headlights creeping in through his window and bathing the room with a soft glow that doesn’t quite reach the darkest corners. Other than that, there certainly isn’t a great view so Keith isn’t quite sure what he’s looking at but it apparently doesn’t matter to Lance, back still facing him, who can’t seem to look away. Keith slowly rises to his feet, hesitant and a little drawn in by Lance’s new demeanor. He scoops up the discarded pillow, bumping the table softly as he does and manages to catch Lance’s attention. He turns, one hand still on the window sill, to look at him with the softest expression Keith has seen to date and smiles.

Really smiles, though. Nothing half-assed or forced. Genuine and real.

It sets Keith’s heart into arrhythmia and he has to duck his head, jabbing his finger over his shoulder toward the small door leading to his pathetic excuse of a washroom.

“I’m gonna, uh,” he scratches at the back of his neck, risking a glance up at Lance who is, _yup_ , still smiling at him like Keith just saved a newborn puppy. “Go get ready for bed.”

“‘Kay,” Lance blinks once slowly, each movement painfully tender, and Keith literally gulps.

“You can, uh, eat whatever - I mean there’s not much, but you can eat it - and then, uhm, yeah.” Keith takes a few steps backwards, hand reaching out behind him for the doorknob. His fingers just barely find it when he finds his voice again and he finishes. “Just - uh, make yourself at home? I guess?”

And with that, he’s managed to awkwardly pull the door open and duck in side, quickly shutting it behind him with a unintentionally loud _bang_. He doesn’t even turn the lights on right away, just presses his head against the peeling paint of his door and takes a few deep breaths to calm his racing heart.

 _Nope, nope, nope,_ **_nope_ **.

He knows this feeling - they aren’t close friends but he knows it well enough to recognize its ugly face when it shows up after months of absence - and he wants nothing to do with it.

Lance is obnoxiously full of himself, sarcastic, and takes up every opportunity to tease Keith. He’s over the top in everything he does, dramatic about the tiniest things, reactive (sometimes unfairly so) to the most random comments, refuses to talk about _anything_ and _everything_ related whatever the hell happened -

And yet -

Here Keith is, forehead pressed against the white painted wood of his bathroom door, hurriedly smothering the feelings bubbling in his chest.

He is _not_ falling for this moron. He isn’t. Not when his last day at the arena is only a week away. Not when he’s probably fucked up whatever progress they had made in the mess that is their friendship because of his damn curiosity. Not when it’s doomed to end poorly before it’s even started.

No, not this time, Keith thinks as he pries his face away and flicks on the light at last, the old fluorescent bulbs flickering a few times before glowing to life.

Besides -- he’s only known him for, what, a month and a half? That’s hardly enough time to really know the kind of person he is or to know if he’s the kind of person Keith wants to… be around. He reaches for his toothbrush, almost drops it twice, and begins the methodical movements of brushing his teeth.

But he’s _kind_. He likes to act like he doesn’t give a shit even though he does, and jumps on every chance to prove it. He bickers and fights with all the other skaters but Keith doesn’t miss the bright smiles and warm compliments he offers them after every rehearsal. And, when he isn’t plagued by the invisible demons the rest of the world can’t see, he’s surprisingly open - his face an empty canvas for whatever he’s feeling, ready to be slathered in brilliant hues of emotion. It’s still somewhat jarring -- seeing him that way. Feelings to blatantly bared to the world without fear, Keith wonders if it’s frightening, if he feels vulnerable? Or maybe he doesn’t notice it at all.

And, of course, there’s the obvious attraction between them. Well, maybe not _between_ them, but certainly towards Lance. That’s a part of all of this that he can’t ignore even though he definitely tries.

But it isn’t happening. It’s not. Soon he’ll be done the tadpole lessons and won’t _actually_ have a reason to visit the rink. The feelings will die and he will forget about it.

Like it should be.

He spits out the last mouthful of frothy toothpaste and washes his mouth out with a gulp of water. He steels himself in the mirror for a few seconds later before he finally emerges from his closet-sized bathroom. Lance hasn’t moved in the time he’s been gone, one arm still resting on the window sill, although this time he’s leaning more to one side, right leg pulled up to his chest. He turns to look at Keith as he reenters the room, cheek smushed against his forearm as he watches him.

All those feelings Keith convinced himself to ignore bubble up once more and he takes a few seconds, frozen under Lance’s gaze, to calm down and clear his throat. “S-so,” he nods towards his couch. “I’ve got some extra blankets if you need them but otherwise everything is there.”

Lance pulls his face from his arm, turning away from the window to follow Keith’s gesture. His eyebrows pull together as he he looks back up at him. “Where are you gonna sleep?”

“I’ve slept on the floor before,” he shrugs. “It’s not that bad if you have enough pillows.”

“I’m not gonna make you sleep on the floor, Keith.” Lance sighs at him and rolls his eyes.

Keith holds up his hands. “No, no. It’s fine, honestly. I don’t mind.”

“Yeah, well,” Lance pulls himself to his feet and quickly crosses the space over to him. “I do. This is your house, dude.”

“Exactly,” Keith snags one of the extra pillows from the foot of the couch and tosses it a few feet away from the couch, already turning away to rummage through a nearby cupboard for a spare blanket. “It’s my house and I say you’re sleeping on the couch.”

When he turns back around, blanket gathered in his arms, Lance is staring blankly at him, as if he’s confused. Keith deposits the blanket on the floor by his pillow without looking away and, when lance’s expression doesn’t change, he rests his hands on his hips and sighs loudly.

“What?” It’s his turn to raise an eyebrow at Lance - Lance’s signature move - and wait for his response.

Which does come, but it isn’t what Keith was looking for. It certainly isn’t an answer.

“Nothing,” Lance doesn’t move much, still watching Keith stare back at him. “It’s nothing.”

He seems to shake off whatever that was and falls backwards onto the couch dramatically. The springs groan under his weight, too old and too tired to properly support anyone anymore, and Keith cringes. Lance doesn’t really notice, just shifts his weight until his head rests on one of the pillows and he can yank the semi-folded, mainly-crumpled blanket off the back of the couch. Keith takes this as his cue that Lance has accepted the terms and conditions, and moves towards the light switch on the nearby wall. His hand hovers just above it while he looks back towards Lance, who’s still watching the open window, his chest slowly rising and falling in time with the steady rainfall.

“So, uh,” Keith bites his lip, the once-comfortable silent now growing awkward as he chews on his words. “Um, goodnight - I guess.”

Lance, slightly more in character, scoffs but doesn’t push it much further. “Goodnight, Keith.”

Keith tries not to drown in his discomfort and flicks the switch, bathing the room in the dark shadows that were stretching out from its corners. He hears Lance draw the blankets over his chest, the springs complaining once more, as he makes his way back to his makeshift bed. It’s definitely not the most comfortable place he’s ever slept but it isn’t all that different from the thin cushions of his pull-out couch so he’ll be okay. They’ll both probably freeze, though, seeing as the window is still open and it’s late fall. The heating in his apartment sucks when all the windows are _closed_ but he couldn’t make himself close it when Lance was looking… well, ‘happy’ is the best word he can think of but that doesn’t come close to covering the depth of the emotion he saw.

So, he just pulls the blanket up to his chin and lays over on his side. The streetlamp on his street is just close enough to bathe his room with soft, blue-white light, bright enough to whisper over the edges of his skin, his cluttered coffee table, the crooked and overflowing bookshelf on his back wall, while still leaving hints of shadows in the farthest edges of the room. In full lighting, his room looks messy, disorganized, lazy - but like this it’s calm, serene, and untouched. From his spot on the floor, he can just make out the slopes of Lance’s face, outlined in that same smooth blue hue. His eyes aren’t closed, that much he can see, but other than that, his full expression is lost to him. The still air of the room carrying the soft harmonies of rain water hitting the glass of his window mixed with the sound of a neighbour making their way down the street, heels clacking against wet pavement. Quieter than the rest, Lance’s slow, even breaths ease into the steady rhythm of the sounds enveloping them. Keith subconsciously matches his own breathing to it, heart rate slowing as he slips that calm state that precedes sleep, warmth pooling from his chest.

Lance sighs then, long and slow through his nose, and folds his hands over his chest.

There’s something about nightfall and its soft lighting that pulls all the things you’ve been ignoring out from the depths of your mind. Whatever it is that is weighing Lance down is probably just beneath the surface at all times, fighting tooth and nail to be let out, and break down whatever defenses he’s set up. Keith knows that weight, maybe not to the same degree, but he knows of it, and knows it is exhausting. Regardless of what the others have said to him, his curiosity is still eating away at him. He so badly wants to understand, wants to _know_ \-- but he also doesn’t want to be shut out again. They just got back to a good place in their relationship and he really doesn’t want to do anything to jeopardize that.

But -

Lance seems… better about what happened. Not as angry. He might be more open to it all now that they’ve gotten over that hurdle.

Keith rolls further onto his stomach and folds his arms to lay his chin on. It’s a risk, that’s for sure. But when has Keith ever shied away from risks?

“Hey,” Keith’s voice sounds so painfully loud in his dark apartment and he sees Lance start before turning his head minutely towards him.

“Hm?” Lance’s voice is softer than his, not necessarily in volume but in quality. It sends a shiver down Keith’s spine.

“Can I -” Keith pauses, unsure. “Can I… ask you something?”

It’s several seconds before Lance responds, but at least he does. “You’ll probably do it even if I say no, so: sure.”

Keith doesn’t know quite how to say this, what’s the best way to organize his words so as not to hurt Lance like he did before. This could either go really poorly or really well, and he doesn’t know which to expect.

“The others - y’know Hunk and Shiro and what not - they said,” Keith watches Lance turn back to the window, hiding his face from him once more, and it sends a small spike of panic shooting into his chest. He continues anyways. He’s already started so he might as well finish. “They said you used to skate… pairs. But you obviously don’t anymore. No one will talk to me about it but I know - I know something happened. I just want to --” He’s reminded of how Lance looked at him on the train, empty and apathetic, and that spike of panic turns into slow burning embers. “I’m not trying to be a jerk here, I actually want to know. Want to... understand. I want to understand what happened.”

The silence that follows is almost painful. It seems to drown out the sighing of the rain outside and the creak of floorboards from his neighbours above him, pulling all the breath from Keith’s lungs and fueling those embers into full flames that lick up his chest to his throat. There’s a brief moment where he thinks he fucked up again, ruined whatever they had going for them and make everything worse again. But then Lance is sighing along with the rain once more and taps his fingers on the back of his folded hand.

“Not today, Keith.” He says, voice still soft but now coated with something Keith can’t quite identify. “Not yet.”

All at the once, the fire is put out, smoke swirling up in slow, fluid tendrils, and Keith feels relieved.

It’s not the answer he wanted, but he didn’t think he was going to get it anyways. But it’s better than what he’s gotten before. It’s not a jabbing stare that pierces through him or a look so empty he wonders if Lance will ever smile at him again. It’s not any of those things. Instead it’s a promise - not in so many words exactly, but he can hear the future in those five words, heavy and auspicious.

Keith drags his gaze from the curve of Lance’s nose to the dark sky hanging outside his window. He breathes in the fresh scent of rain and nods.

“Okay.”

 

He falls asleep to the sound of Lance’s breaths lining up with his own and the words ‘ _not yet’_ heavy on his mind.  

* * *

“Can we stop for coffee on the way in?” Lance says, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his puffy vest as he hunches his shoulders up to his ears. “I need a hot drink, stat.”

Keith stares pointedly at him. “Well, maybe if you were wearing something _warmer_ you wouldn’t have this problem.”

“Hey!” Lance gestures at himself. “At least I _have_ a change of clothes in my skating bag! You should smell Hunk sometimes after practice -- you’d wish he was as prepared as I am.”

Keith tries his best to hide the fact that he’s _very blatantly_ looking Lance up and down. It had been a… shock to see Lance emerge from his tiny bathroom this morning, clad in short black denim shorts, matching black thigh high socks, and a puffy charcoal vest that covers a loose fitted top that Keith couldn’t look at for too long without risking a heart attack. Whatever he had tried to smother last night hadn’t worked, seeing as his heart had picked up _immediately_ and he had to make a point of stuffing everything within reach into his gym bag as an excuse to look away.

But now, there’s no excuse for him to cling to like the last lifeboat leaving the Titanic. He’s desperately trying to stay afloat while Kate Winslet sings _Come Josephine_ into the cold, frigid air, and Leonardo DiCaprio sinks to his icy tomb. Except there’s nothing icy about Keith right now - all the blood has rushed to his chest and neck, and he’s at risk of spontaneously combusting at any moment.

“But, honestly,” Lance leans into his eyeline and breaks his flustered thought process. “Coffee?”

Keith’s brain stutters to a halt, words tumbling over each other and making it impossible to form an even _semi_ -coherent sentence so he just nods.

“Great, I know just the place.” He picks up his pace a bit, now leading the both of them, but turns briefly to jab a finger towards Keith’s chest. “But you’re paying.”

“I paid yesterday!”

“That coffee went cold,” Lance folds his arms over his chest, now walking backwards so he can look at him. “Also: who gave up his free time to coach you, convinced Shiro to let us use the rink after hours, and then slept on your old, dirty couch? Admit it: you owe me.”

Keith scoffs at him, the blush in his chest suddenly forgotten. “At least I didn’t make you sleep on the floor.”

“You might as well have,” Lance spins on his heel and continues on down the sidewalk, making a left turn away the road leading to the arena. “My back hates me this morning and I was freezing all night long.”

“Take that up with the person who left my window open all night. Keith shoots back but Lance waves him off and continues on his path, kicking up fallen leaves as he goes.

He had planned on spending the day at home, eating terrible food and binge-watching whatever show he could find streaming online. Instead, he’s awake and _out of the house_ at 6:00am, dragging his feet as Lance skips on ahead of him. It only took one thing to convince him to choose extra practice in favour of vegetating for a full eight house and it starts with “sh” and ends with “ort shorts”.

Keith is a weak man, he knows this, and he isn’t proud of it.

He needs to work on the routine anyways, and Allura will be there for him to practice with - it’s a completely valid and understandable decision to make.

“You,” Lance continues, hop in his step increasing every few feet, “are about to be introduced to _the best_ coffee shop known to man. It’s going to change your life - it changed mine.”

Keith is about to make some stupid remark, something about how dull Lance’s life must be if a coffee shop changed it, but the words halt halfway through as the large, vintage looking sign for _La Vida Mocha_ inches into view.

“Wait a minute,” Keith stops, brows pulling together. “This is the place you’re talking about?”

Lance, realizing Keith is no longer behind him, spins around to look at him. “Yeah? It’s the only place I go to anymore.”

“But -” Keith looks between him and the storefront. “The _name_. It’s - It’s -”

“Incredible? Amazing? Hilarious?” Lance offers with a raise of his eyebrow. He rolls his eyes and continues off towards the shop, letting Keith jump to a start and catch up with him. “It’s a joke, Keith. Maybe you’ve heard of it before?”

Keith just scoffs and shoves his hands deep in his jacket pockets as he falls in line with Lance, doing his best to keep up with his long strides. “That’s not a joke - it’s a terribly painful pun.”

“A _funny_ pun.” Lance hops onto the curb and reaches for the handle of the door. “Besides, this place is more than it’s incredible name - their coffee is top notch.”

Lance barely keeps the door open long enough for Keith to slip in behind him, thankful for the sudden wave of warm air wrapping around him. The cafe is busier than it has been the past few times Keith has been here (despite it being earlier in the day than his past visits), a few people huddled around a table near the front window with a warm beverage in their hands. There are two more people in line ahead of them, waiting while Kale - his beach blonde hair tucked into a beanie and a dark red scarf wound around his neck - takes their orders. Lance pulls in behind them, not looking at the menu for more than a second before turning back to Keith with a smirk.

“If you need a hand choosing a drink, I’m your man.” He starts. “I know this menu like the back of my hand.”

Keith _tries_ to meet his eyes, he does, but he’s unzipped his vest just enough to expose the sharp angles of his collarbones and the smooth dip between his pecs. He has to remind himself that openingly gawking at his kind of friend/kind of teacher isn’t considered socially acceptable and then _really focus_ on tearing his gaze away to the menu above Kale’s head, as if pondering the options. He doesn’t dare look back at Lance to see if he noticed his leering, his embarrassment is already too strong as it is.

“I’m -” Keith takes this opportunity to fish his wallet out of his bag, keeping his head ducked down. “I don’t need anything, uh, fancy.”

“But that’s half the fun!” Lance throws his hands up and turns to face the menu, pressing in beside Keith with his arms crossed. “Kale is really great and keeps some seasonal syrups in _just_ for me so you can get all sorts of flavours added. Do you take your coffee strong?”

Lance tilts his head at Keith and from this close he can see the red sheen on the tip of his nose, presumably from the cold, and short stubble lining his jaw line. Keith’s brain short circuits as their proximity slowly dawns on him - he only just barely manages to stammer out an answer. “U-uh. Yes?”

“Hmmm,” Lance turns his attention back to the menu but Keith can’t seem to do the same, his eyes glued to the side of his face. “You could always add an extra shot to whatever you get and just customize the flavouring depending on how sweet you take it.”

“I don’t think -” Keith watches Lance peer over at him, questioningly. “I’m just gonna stick to a regular coffee, I think.”

“What?” The pair in front of them slide off to the side, freeing up the counter and, subsequently, Kale, who is smiling at them in recognition. “But that’s so boring!”

“Hey Lance!” Kale pulls Lance’s (incredulous) attention away from Keith, smile bright as per usual as he locks eyes with Keith. “I guess I should have figured you knew Lance if you skated at Altea Arena - he’s kind of hard to miss.”

“Well, ex _cuse_ me,” Lance leans against the counter with exaggerated offense plastered across his face. “And here I thought we were friends, Kale!”

Kale cocks his head, narrowing his eyes at Lance teasingly. “Am I wrong?”

“Not at all,” Keith pipes in and Lance fixes him with an unimpressed look.

“It’s obvious my dashing good looks that draws everyone in,” Lance brushes his hair back from his forehead with a loose flick of his wrist, vanity oozing from the movement.

“Something like that,” Kale smirks and this time _he’s_ the recipient of Lance’s glare, but he just laughs it off. “Do you two skate together, then?”

_What a way to kill the good mood._

Keith isn’t sure if he or Lance should answer that - doesn’t know if he should answer it at all or just get the hell out of there immediately. Sure, Lance was okay with him mentioning the whole pairs thing last night but now, in the bright light of day and without the heavy cover of shadow to hide the cracks in his expression, he’s not sure what his reaction will be. He peers slightly over to him, worried about what he might see, but Lance seems unperturbed, rolling his eyes and waving his hand dismissively in the air.

“Yeah right,” Lance scoffs. “Keith can barely skate a full loop of the ice without tripping - he’d never be able to keep up with me.”

“Hey! I’m not _that_ bad anymore-” Keith interjects, but Lance just continues on like he hadn’t said anything.

“He’s my student.” He says matter of factly, chest puffed out like he’s top shit.

Kale frowns at him, confused but interested. “I didn’t realize you were a coach?”

“He’s not.” Keith throws in.

“Maybe not _full time_ ,” Lance insists. “But I’m teaching _you_ aren’t I? Either way, I like to consider myself a sort of…” he twirls his hand in the air, searching for the words. “Lifestyle coach on and off the ice so in some way I guess I always _am_ a coach.”

“Uh huh,” Kale crosses his arms and looks at Lance disbelievingly, but that kind look never leaves his eyes. Something tells Keith he doesn’t have a mean bone in his body - or perhaps he’s just been conditioned to always be nice by a customer service job. He ignores Lance’s mumbling protests and turns towards Keith. “So, I guess the apology coffee worked, then?”

Now, it was early and Keith had yet to have a coffee this morning, so his brain is already functioning at a fraction of its usual capacity. Factor in Lance’s ridiculous outfit that is _definitely_ too revealing for fall (but certainly not too revealing for Keith’s taste) and now Kale throwing him out to the wolves (‘the wolves’ being Lance’s curious and somewhat amused gaze), Keith’s brain is threatening to stop functioning entirely.

“Wait a minute,” Lance says as he starts to catch on, voice a teasing drawl as he smirks knowingly. “That coffee you brought me was -”

“You know what,” Keith scratches at the back of his neck. “I think I’m ready to order now…”

“What?” Lance takes one step closer and Keith turns his face to avoid eye contact. “Are you embarrassed?”

Keith tries to lean around him to catch Kale’s eye, _not_ answering that question. “I’ll just have a small dark roast.”

Kale tries to cover a snort and punches in his order, not looking up while he continues. “Did you actually drink that, Lance? The last time I gave you something that had anything less than six pumps of syrup, you gave it to a stranger.”

“Donated,” Lance corrects, giving Keith once last shit eating grin before turning back to the counter. “He didn’t have his wallet on him so I _graciously_ offered my drink to him.”

“Right,” Kale rolls his eyes at him. Keith notes how much more casual and teasing his is with Lance than he was the past two times he served Keith. His demeanor seems to be a few steps past ‘friendly’ to Keith and, if he didn’t know Lance already, he’d assume the same of him.

“I’ll have you know,” Lance leans one arm on the counter and stares him down. “I drank -- _most_ of this one.”

Kale raises an eyebrow at him, voice sarcastic. “Should I get you another one, then?”

“I think…. the usual is fine.”

“Ah, of course.” He pauses, looking between the two of them. “So who’s paying first?”

“Actually, Keith’s buying.” Lance answers, pushing himself off of the counter and, with one smooth movement, slings his arm over Keith’s shoulders. Keith feels like he might actually die right here, right now, at six am on a Saturday morning in some damn hipster coffee shop. Whatever portion of his brain he _was_ using sputters to a stop, letting out a painful wheeze as Lance smiles at him, hand resting comfortable on Keith’s far shoulder. “I’m not getting paid for these damn lessons so he has to make up for it _somehow_.”

And it’s at that precise moment that every completely inappropriate thought enters Keith in one huge rush.

 _Yeah,_ **_no_ ** _. Now it’s definitely_ **_not the time, Keith_ **.

 

“Well, then,” Kale - saving Keith’s ass yet again - taps at his computer a few more time then nods towards the machine, smiling at but not mentioning the furious blush creeping up Keith’s neck (how could he miss it?). “Your total is $8.26.”

Keith looks at the machine, its screen now lit up with instructions, and slowly reminds his brain that he _has to move eventually_. It feels like a hundred years pass before Keith somehow manages press his card to the reader and Lance pulls his arm from his shoulders, hopping over to the far counter to wait for his drink to arrive. A receipt prints and Kale tears it away, sending Keith a knowing look and gesturing off towards where Lance practically drools at the brewing coffee.

Lance, by some miracle, seems unaware of Keith’s downfall and continues on in idle chatter while he waits.

“Wait, Kale,” he calls out. “Why didn’t you just give Keith my regular order instead of that bitter garbage you brewed up?’

Keith presses a few buttons on the espresso machine before pushing his glasses higher up onto his nose and ignores Lance’s comment. “I didn’t know the drink was for you - he didn’t give me any names.”

Lance turns to him, brows pulled together. “So you just came in, asked for some random coffee on the menu, and hoped I’d like it?”

“Kale suggested it!” Keith waves towards him behind the coffee just as he reaches for a second cup and moves to the pots of fresh coffee. “And I didn’t choose what you got, I just - went with it.”

“Well,” Lance watches Kale push the cup of dark coffee towards Keith with a smile. “You got it wrong either way. You’re lucky I even drank it.”

Keith pulls the cup up to his lips, relishing in the warmth pooling into his cold hands, and blows on it gently. “What it is then?”

“What?”

“Your order.” Keith takes a small sip and looks at Lance over his cup. “What _is_ your order, then?”

“Oh,” Lance leans both forearms on the counter and stares at Kale’s methodical movements as he jumps from several different syrup pumps. “Two shots of espresso, four shots of white mocha, three pumps of vanilla, two pumps of cinnamon, topped off with steamed milk and whipped cream. It’s a masterpiece.”

Keith blinks at him slowly. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Kale shake his head, laughing quietly under his breath. “Do you have any blood in your system anymore? Or is it all just sugar?”

“Aaaaaaall sugar,” Lance leans his head back to catch Keith’s eye and _winks_. “It’s why I’m so sweet.”

Keith snorts in unison with Kale, who is now swirling whipped cream on top of a caramel brown cup of ‘coffee’, and takes another sip of his own drink. “Your drink, sir.”

Lance snatches it from him and immediately goes for the whipped cream, tongue swiping at the fluffy cream and devouring it in seconds. He seems content, then, and pops a lid onto his dream before tagging a swig of it.

“Why -” Kale sighs. “Why do you even get whipped cream if you’re just going to eat it in three seconds anyways?”

“That, my friend,” Lance wipes the back of his sleeve against his lips, catching the bit of whipped cream that clung to the tip of his nose. “Is all part of the fun.”

Kale, once again, just shakes his head, an amused smile creeping onto his lips despite himself and waves them off. “Bye, boys - have fun at practice!”

 

They’ve barely walked a minute before Lance peels the top off his cup and swirls the contents as he watches what must be an inch of syrup be sloshes around with the creamy liquid. He takes one more gulp of it, throwing his head back to catch the ends of his drink, and throws the cup in a nearby garbage bin.

“You’re _done?_ ” Keith stares at him as he falls back into step with him, vest once again zipped up to his neck. “What, did you chug it?”

“I like it fresh, alright?” Lance shrugs. “Kale makes my coffee perfectly and I don’t like to waste it.”

Keith wonders how he hasn’t made himself sick by drinking it so quickly but doesn’t push it, instead he jumps onto a different conversation - one that’s been nagging at him. “I guess you’ve known Kale a while, then?”

“Long enough,” Lance nods. “I started going to _La Vida_ since before Shiro started skating with Allura. Kale hasn’t been working there as long but it’s been at least five years or so. Don’t know how long exactly, to be honest.” Keiths hums in response, noise vibrating into his cup as he takes another long pull of coffee and let’s Lance continue on. “Although, I will say that having a barista as a friend has been great over the years.” He sighs contently. “So many free drinks…”

“Friend?” Keith scoffs and looks over at him. Lance just blinks dumbly at him, not understanding. “Hold on - you didn’t notice?”

“Notice what?”

“Lance,” Keith frowns at him - he can’t be this dense can he? “He was _flirting_ with you. You do know that right?”

“What?” Lance snorts loudly and shakes his head. “Yeah, right. After five years he probably would have made a move by now, dude. We’re friends.”

“Did you not hear him in there?” Keith insists.

“If you think _that’s_ flirting then you’re dumber than I thought.”

Keith huffs in annoyance “I know what flirting is.”

“Obviously you don’t!” Lance throws his hands up.

“I’m not having this conversation.”

“Hold on,” Lance hops in front of him, arms crossed as he leans against a nearby storefront and examines Keith. Keith tries to sidestep him but Lance just holds out a hand finger wagging at him. “You look familiar…. Did we have a class together?”

Keith stares at him, his annoyance melting into confusion. “What?” Lance smirks at him. “Lance, we didn’t go to school together. What are you -”

“No really!” Lance takes one step closer to him, smile growing into the most shit eating grin Keith’s seen on him to date,  and Keith has to tilt his chin up just a little to maintain eye contact. “I’m serious - I could have sworn we had chemistry together.”

One beat.

Two.

Keith wants to simultaneously groan at the mess that was that pick up line and also get as _far away as he can from this embarrassingly charming shithead._ Keith curses the erratic skip in his heartbeat as Lance beams down at him, nose five inches from his own, actively trying to ignore the immense heat flaring across his chest and neck. Thank god for his heavy fall attire because otherwise Lance would know just how well that damn line worked and he would never live it down.

“That,” Lance tilts his head to the side, smile never fading. “Is flirting.”

Keith feels his blush flare once more and decides he needs to leave _right now_ \- namely because he’s about to explode but also because he doesn’t know what to say. He tries for an annoyed eye roll but even he can tell it’s weak, and pushes past Lance towards the now visible arena.

“What?” Lance jogs to catch up with him, leaning over to peer at Keith’s face while he stares pointedly at the pavement. “Not good enough? I’ve got more.”

“No really,” Keith holds up a hand. “That’s fine. You don’t have to -”

“So,” Lance taps his chin a few times, lips pursed. “Aside from being sexy, what do you do for a living?”

“ _Lance_ ,” Keith sputters and throws a half-hearted whack to his chest, pulling a surprised _oof_ from his lips and getting him at least a few more inches of space between them.

“That one was better,” he snickers. “You gotta admit it.”

“I will admit nothing.” Keith mumbles as he shoves his hands into his jacket pockets and lifts his shoulders closer to his ears to hide his expression.

“That’s fine,” Lance hums, jokingly bumping into Keith’s shoulder as he falls back into step with him. “That answers tells me all I need to know.”

 

Then, the ground opens up and swallows Keith whole, dragging him into the depths of hell where he can burn in his embarrassment for all of eternity and he can escape this cruel torture.

In Keith’s mind, at least.

* * *

“ _What. Happened._ ”

So maybe they forgot to clean up the ice the night before. And maybe they forgot to mention that there would be a bloodstain from when Keith’s face unceremoniously smashed into it. And maybe Keith’s face looks like Hunk backed the zamboni onto it. And _maybe_ \--

They forgot to tell anyone about it.

So here they stand, watching Hunk clean up the ice while Shiro stares them down, his own face grow steadily redder by the second with Allura right beside him looking similarly. Pidge is barely paying attention, tapping away at their cellphone in the rafters with their feet propped up on the row ahead of them, and definitely not caring that Lance and Keith are about to be torn apart.

“Ah,” Lance scratches the back of his head and makes a point to not look anyone directly in the eye. “That.”

“‘ _That?’_ ’” Shiro’s voice cracks as his last shred of patience snaps and he reaches up to run a hand through his hair, the front white locks sticking up awkwardly. “Really? That’s what you’re going to say?”

Keith steps forward then, holding his hands up in surrender. “Listen, Shiro -”

“No,” Allura cuts him off and shakes her head, soft curls bouncing around her temples. “You don’t get to make excuses this time.” Keith deflates, shoulders dropping as Allura’s usually soft gaze turns stern. “You will tell us what happened, this instant.”

They both stay silent, eye cast downward. The only sounds are the whirring of the zamboni across the ice and quiet electronic beeps from whatever app Pidge has open on their phone - painfully loud under the heavy silence hanging over their heads. Eventually, Lance nudges Keith’s arm and, when he turns to glare at him, he nods in Shiro and Allura’s direction, obviously not willing to step up to the plate here.

Keith sighs loudly. “Look, I just - wiped out last night. I smashed my nose on the ice and we forgot to clean it up. That’s all.”

“Your nose?” It’s Shiro who asks but Allura who steps forward to gaze more intently at Keith’s face. He feels heat flare across his nose and cheeks under her scrutiny, feeling a lot like a little kid again.

“Uh,” Keith has to resist the urge to lean away from Allura’s tentative fingers that prod at the tender skin under his eye. “Yeah. I - um - broke it.”

Allura just shakes her head, finally pulling away, and pushes the hair from her face. “It looks like it was set probably, which is good, but it will take a few weeks to properly heal. Longer if you further aggravate the injury.”

“Which is entirely possible,” Shiro scolds. “Seeing as your provincial finals are soon.”

Keith can feel Lance’s eyes on the side of his face but he ignores it. “It’s _fine_ , Shiro. It will be mostly healed by then.”

“ _Mostly_.” Shiro rolls his eyes.

Keith fixes him with an unamused look but just continues on. “Besides - coach doesn’t even care if I show up with a _broken arm_ let alone a broken nose, so long as I play well.”

“Keith -- she’s tough but she’s not heartless.”

“You haven’t been on the team for the past five years, Shiro.” Keith shakes his head. “Trust me, she isn’t the same when you were co-coach.”

“Well,” Allura places a hand on Keith’s shoulder, silencing whatever protest was on Shiro’s lips by stepping between the two of them. “No matter what she thinks, _I_ think you aren’t stepping foot on this ice unless you absolutely have to.”

Keith looks up at her, eyebrows raised and eyes begging. “What? I have to work on the exam routine! I _barely_ remember it when Lance is literally shouting the steps at me - I need to practice, Allura.”

There’s a brief moment where Allura seems shocked, lips parting slightly as she flicks her eyes over at Lance with surprise and even lets a tiny smile grace her lips before she’s looking back at Keith. “I’m glad you’re passionate about this routine, Keith. But, as I said before, your health should be put above all else. We can practice off the ice today and then run through it when your face isn’t _quite_ as swollen.”

“But _Allura_ \- ”

“I said no.” She props her hands onto her hips and shakes her head. “You warm up here while I help Shiro with Hunk and Pidge’s lesson. We can work in one of the studios once I’m done.” All business, she doesn’t let him respond, popping the covers off of her blades and gliding onto the ice now that Hunk and the zamboni have disappeared through the rink doors.

Pidge, shocking Keith as he kind of forgot they were there, sighs and drags their skates out of their bag and begins tugging them onto their feet. “I’d listen to her Keith,” they say, the statement punctuating with a sharp pull on their laces. “She once hung Hunk’s skates from a lamppost to keep him from skating after he pulled a muscle over practicing a routine.”

“A lamppost?” Keith frowns. “How did she get them up there?”

 **“** _You don’t want to know._ **”** All three of them, Shiro, Lance, and Pidge, answer in unison, their expressions grave.

Keith just nods, taking this information as several different scenarios flit through his mind, but Lance turns to Shiro with a grin on his face. “So,” he sneers. “How does it feel knowing your not-girlfriend is talking to your brother like she’s his mother?”

Shiro almost chokes on the air and his dignity, and stares disbelievingly at Lance. “ _Lance_ . You can’t just _say things like that_.”

“What?” Lance snorts. “Do you have something to _hide_ , Coach?” That earns him a whack to the back of the head and gets pointed towards the ice with a glare. Lance is laughing as he walks away to put on his skates and it’s contagious, Keith snickering under his breath.

Shiro turns on him, pointing a finger at him with a stern stare. “Don’t you start, too. I don’t care how swollen your face is, I’m still your brother and I will still kick your butt.”

“Why does it bother you so much, _hmm_ ?” Keith narrows his eyes at him but Shiro avoids his gaze, neck slowly growing red. The lightbulb flicks on above his head and he hops up, face close to his brothers. “Oh, I get it! Does she call you ‘daddy’ or something? No wait: you _wish_ she did?”

“ _GET OUT.”_ Shiro violently shoves him towards the front door but his sputtered complaints are barely audible of the sound of Lance flat out _cackling_.

Keith ducks out of Shiro’s grasp and catches sight of Lance, doubled-over and grasping the back of a chair so he doesn’t fall over, practically wheezing he’s laughing so hard. His hand is pressed to his chest as his shoulders shake with laughter and Keith swears to whatever god there is -- the room is at least ten times brighter than it was seconds ago. His face alight with sheer joy and lips pulled so wide Keith feels his knees might actually give out from under him. He feels his own face grow warm as, this time, he really does openly gawk at the human sun ray standing five feet away from him.

And _he_ did this. _Keith did._ Lance is laughing like this, glowing like this, because of _Keith_.

Okay, yeah, his knees are definitely buckling now.

 

But, _of course_ , the world can’t just let Keith be with his immensely gay thoughts. Oh no, Shiro has to lean back into his line of sight, eyes curiously and brow furrowed.

 _Well, shit_.

He wasn’t exactly being subtle about how enraptured he was by Lance’s laughter and the look on Shiro’s face tells him that he’s figured something out.

Keith is just about to mumble some shitty segue away from his flushed face when Allura calls out to Shiro and he turns his head to look at her. Hunk has joined her on the ice and Pidge is standing up, skates now properly on, grinning like the Cheshire Cat at Shiro _and_ Keith. Shiro holds a hand up, stepping away from Keith (not before he sends him a knowing look) and moves towards the edge of the rink.

“Coming,” he calls out.

Pidge, stepping past Keith and the now more-composed Lance, deepens their voice in a more impression of Shiro’s and adds: “ ‘Mommy.’ ”

Shiro looks like he might turn on them too, but then their smiling, sweet and pure, and the expression of embarrassed fury is replaced with mild annoyance. He takes off towards Allura, face only a little red. Pidge bows dramatically and steps backwards onto the ice, their wild hair flopping in front of their eyes as they go.

“Little shithead,” Lance mumbles. “I don’t know how they do it but they can get away with _anything_.”

Keith has trouble making anything remotely close to eye contact with Lance as he approaches his side. He steps away from the rafters, skates now on, and grabs the edge of the boards to swings his leg up onto it to start stretching. Keith very quickly turns his gaze towards the four skaters on the ice, pulling his sweater just a little tighter around his neck.

“It would have been a nice trait to have when we were kids.” Keith says as Allura takes Shiro’s hand, saying something to Pidge, and pulling away from them to demonstrate something. “He handed my ass to me many times over the years.”

“That doesn’t surprise me, honestly,” Lance sneaks a wink into Keith’s peripheral vision and the air catches in Keith’s lungs.

Lance just chuckles to himself and bends back over his leg, nose nearly touching his knee, as Allura eases in beside Shiro after a half-loop of the ice. Keith watches as one of Shiro’s hands finds her waist, the other clutching her hand, and lifts her above his head. She lets go of his hand and shifts hers to his shoulder, legs almost in a split. Shiro shifts a bit, her weight now held in one of his hands.

The movement is so elegant and effortless that it catches Keith off guard when, all of a sudden, Shiro stumbles, his pick snagging on the ice and throwing them both tumbling forwards. Allura, who was at least 8 feet above the ice, somehow flips herself in the air so it’s not her _face_ that slams into the cold surface. Shiro does manage to catch himself but she doesn’t, her leg bending awkwardly underneath her as she skids a few feet away from him. There’s a loud crack of _something_ smashing against the ice very, very audible and then everything goes silent.

Keith stops breathing, freezing entirely.

Everyone seems to, really. Hunk and Pidge stare from centre ice, Pidge’s small hand gripping Hunk’s forearm with a death grip while he just stares on, in shock. No one dares move - everyone except for Shiro, of course, who _flies_ to his feet and is on her in less than a second. Even from this far away Keith can hear his panicked voice as he talks to her, pushes her hair from her eyes, and leans inches from her face. He blocks her expression from Keith so he has no idea if she responds let alone _how._ Keith scans the area that she landed, a few feet back - there isn’t any blood that he can see and she isn’t screaming.

But she’s also not getting up.

That’s when Hunk and Pidge jump into motion, both of them ripping across the ice and sliding in beside them. Hunk presses a hand to Shiro’s back and Pidge slides in behind Allura, her shoulders and head in their lap. Pidge, who is usually so sarcastic and indifferent, looks _genuinely_ scared and it seems to finally shake action into Keith. He turns to Lance, heart racing and just stares at him in a panic.

W _hat do we do? What the_ **_fuck_ ** _do we do?_

But Lance isn’t look at him. Isn’t moving, now standing upright with one arm pulled across his chest in a stretch that he never quite finished.

Paralyzed. He’s paralyzed, staring at the others on the ice with wide eyes.

Everyone looks scared - _is_ scared. But Lance doesn’t look scared.

He looks _terrified_.

Pure, genuine, vulnerable fear that was obviously pulled from somewhere deep inside him, that has been suppressed and suppressed until it morphed into something snarling and all-consuming. His shoulders, that were just shaking with laughter, are now trembling under the sheer blue fabric of his sleeves and he looks like he’s seconds away from another breakdown. Keith tentatively reaches out to him, fingers an inch away from his forearm, and hovers one step closer.

“Lance…” It’s the most scared he’s ever seen him. He looks like a child, drawing inward away from the world, he pulls his arms close to him, still not looking Keith in the eye when his fingers graze his arm. Keith repeats, this time more firm. “ _Lance_.”

“She’s -” Lance’s voice breaks, so does the breath he sucks in.

“Lance.” Keith urges. “We need to do _something_. What do we do?”

“I -” _Then_ he looks at him, eyes still wide and broken, once warm skin dull and sickly in pallor. “I don’t -- I’m not -” But he’s pulling away, his face suddenly closed off. The fear fades away, the emotions fade away, the vulnerability, and any memory of his features pulled into a smile gets sucked away with them. Keith takes a step after him but Lance shakes his head, and wraps his arms around his chest, as if to hold in everything that’s only _just_ being contained.

“Hey,” Keith’s voice goes soft but he can’t help the panic that edges into it.

“Don’t.” Lance looks at him, eyes dull and apathetic. He repeats himself and his voice is no different the second time.

It scares Keith.

“Don’t”.

Behind him, Shiro calls Allura name again and, this time she answers, her voice weak and shaken.

But Keith can’t turn away, can’t look away from the man staring uncaringly at him while his heart slams against his ribcage, in time with the soundtrack of their fear that Lance’s demons dance to overhead.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND HERE YOU THOUGHT THERE WOULD ONLY BE ONE ER TRIP IN THIS CHAPTER (imsorry)  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eQ0CJyiK-Q4 btw here's the lift they tripped on :)))


	6. Snow and Tell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd say I'm sorry for causing everyone distress over that cliffhanger but I'd be lying. We enjoyed reading all of your screaming comments which sounds really awful but ya know this is an angsty fic so those reactions mean that we're at least doing SOMETHING right!
> 
> So! A few notes from Emily:  
> 1) I tried to fix the italics for this chapter bc it occurred to me that ao3 hates having google docs copy-pasted into it. If there are any strange spacing around italics that's why!  
> 2) tumblr's search and tagging function isn't working right????????? so i can't see any posts in the fic: on thin ice tag even though thERE TONS A WEEK AGO WTF TUMBLR FIX UR SHIT. please tag wardenalistair and soottea in ur art/posts 'cause we love reblogging/liking your stuff!
> 
> ANYWHO - hopefully this makes up for the last chapter :)))))))) Enjoy!
> 
> author & co-creator: wardenalistair on tumblr and Minadoraa on twitter :)  
> artist & co-creator: soottea on tumblr and sootttea on twitter :)

Despite the chaos that had ensued, Keith managed get his exam practice done with Pidge taking Allura’s place while Shiro drove her to the ER. She insisted it really wasn’t “that bad” but Shiro threatened to physically drag her from the arena if she didn’t cooperate.

After the initial fall, she was in shock for the first few minutes, the wind knocked out of her lungs as Shiro leaned over her and frantically pushed the hair from the face, asking her a hundred questions in five seconds. She answered them as best she could and, once they determined that they weren’t looking at any spinal injuries, she was helped to her feet so she could limp-skate to the boards. Shiro deposited her into the stands and gently removed her skate to examine her ankle, which seemed to be the source of most of her discomfort. Apart from the occasional wince and hiss of breath, she seemed pretty put together - but Keith couldn’t get the image of her, crumpled onto the ice with her leg bent awkwardly out of her brain. Shiro, on the other hand, was a complete mess - apologizing after every other sentence and being on the verge of panic at any given moment. She kept shushing him, telling him it wasn’t his fault and that she was fine, but it did little to soothe him. He practically dragged her to his car while she gave the rest of the team instructions on what to do for their lessons and to call her students for the day to reschedule, put together like nothing just happened.

Lance had disappeared shortly after they’d made it off the ice, not saying a single word to anyone before he left. He didn’t go unnoticed, though, everyone saw him go. Allura even called out to him and made him look her in the eye, offering him a firm nod that definitely meant more than Keith could decipher, before he could disappear entirely.

Despite all of this, they didn’t stop him when he left. Didn’t say a word. Keith almost followed, his feet two steps ahead of his brain, but a small hand wrapped around his wrist stopped him in his tracks. Keith had looked back questioningly but Pidge just shook their head, eyebrows pulled together. _Let him go_ , they had said.

And, for some reason, Keith had listened.

* * *

“Alright, I think that’s good for now,” Pidge strolls across the room to their bag, fishing out their cell and swiping their thumb across the screen.

Keith glances up at the clock on the wall - they’ve been practising for about two and half hours now and,while he knows the choreography now, he has no idea how it will look on the ice. The empty studio (which Pidge had explained was for off-ice routine or lift practice; so that no one would crack their head open on the rink) reminds Keith a lot of a dance studio. Floor to ceiling mirrors on one whole side of the room - that really only serve to distract Keith more than anything - and a bar that Pidge had used during their warm-ups.

He very briefly thinks of all the routines Lance might have run through in this room.

With or without a partner.

Things were… slowly starting to click into place.

Granted, Keith wasn’t much closer to figuring out the mystery that is Lance’s past than he was earlier today but it’s like the hazy fog that had been clouding their relationship was slowly dissipating.

Emphasis on the “slowly”.

It had to do with whoever he used to skate with, whoever was in that photo - that much Keith was certain of. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out, though; all the panicked reactions to even the most offhanded comments about pairs skating were proof enough. And now Allura’s fall? Sure, everyone was scared but Lance wasn’t just scared… There was something deeper to his terror. Keith can see the answer only a few steps away from him but can’t quite reach it and it’s _infuriating_ how badly he wants to understand.

How badly he wants to help.

“So,” Pidge holds their phone up to show Keith the screen and pulls him out of his own head in the process. “Shiro just texted me.”

“And?” Keith trods over to his own bag and snatches up his phone from where he threw it down. **1 Unread Message.**

“Allura’s fine,” they turn they phone back down, fingers typing away as they talk. “Sprained ankle and a concussion but otherwise she’s okay.”

Keith pulls up the new text to reveal Shiro’s contact information and their previously exchanged messages. “Thank _God_.”

_From: Default Best Brother_

_Hey everyone, doctor just left. Allura sprained her ankle and has a mild concussion. Sprained ankle should heal up in a few weeks without complication but she’s still a little wobbly from the concussion. Practices are cancelled for the day and we’ll work on rescheduling Allura’s for the next month, but I’m going to take her home so you will all have to manage on your own. Thanks again. Shiro._ **  
**

 

“Why,” Keith rubs a hand across his face and tucks his phone into his back pocket, “does my brother text like he’s a forty year-old-man?”

Pidge deadpans, raising their eyebrows expectantly. “You’re asking this about the guy that regularly calls Snapchat ‘Snapspeak’?”

“Point taken.” Keith nods solemnly which earns a small chuckle from Pidge. He continues, arms crossed over his chest. “Shiro seems… calmer than I expected him to be.”

Pidge scoffs as they head over to the bar, hooking their ankle over it while they make sure to very dramatically roll their eyes in Keith’s direction. “Oh, don’t worry. He’s probably driving Allura up the wall with how much he’s freaking out. It just doesn’t relay over text.” They lean forward to press their nose to their knee for a few seconds before turning their head to peer at Keith from behind their shaggy bangs. “Also ten bucks says he stays at her place for the night.”

Keith holds up his hands and laughs. “I’m not taking that bet.”

“I don’t blame you.” Pidge nods sagely. “The guy’s so stupidly smitten with her it makes me want to hurl just _looking_ at him.”

Pidge is just starting to swap legs when Keith’s phone buzzes again in his pocket in unison with the chirpy beep of Pidge’s. He digs it out and swipes open the new message.

_From: Default Best Brother_

_Also: Pidge could you please take Allura’s place in the Tadpole recital. She won’t be healed in time so Keith will need a replacement partner. Thanks. Shiro._

“Did you see - ?” Keith starts but Pidge cuts him off.

“Yup.” Keith glances over at them, now bent over their other leg with their phone held on their shin just in front of their nose. “Don’t worry Keith, I’ve got your back.” They tilt their head towards him and wink like they aren’t bent entirely in half.

Keith blinks at them, somewhat stunned. “Uh, thanks.” He clears his throat and tries again, this time more sincerely. “Really, Pidge. Thank you.”

“No sweat.” They straighten up, drop their foot to the ground, and quickly tuck their phone away. “I don’t mind being your skating partner. I mean, I know I’m a lot shorter than Lance or Allura but it doesn’t matter really, seeing as there’s no lifts or throws in the routine.”

“Thankfully.” Keith sighs, following Pidge’s lead as they nod toward the studio door and scooping up his bag on the way.

“You have _no_ idea.” They tug their backpack onto their shoulders and stuff their phone into their sweater pocket, kicking the door shut behind them. “I love skating with Hunk but sometimes I feel like another stack of weights he throws around at the gym. It’s fun having both feet on the ice, too.”

Keith nods politely. “I’m sure Allura’s fall doesn’t help make it any more appealing, either.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that.” Keith looks over at them curiously so they continue on, sleeves pulled up over their fingers as they gesture in front of them. “All of us get into this sport knowing it’s dangerous and we all know that any lift or jump could result in an injury far worse than Allura’s. Seeing it happen freaks you out, sure, but it’s nothing we hadn’t already imagined happening a hundred times.”

“I guess,” Keith sighs heavily as they round a corner and head off towards the main lobby. “I just never really considered it because of how good everyone is, you know? Especially not with Shiro and Allura. _They’re_ the ones that demonstrates the complicated pairs moves.” He shrugs. “They seemed the least likely to get hurt.”

Keith catches the soft look Pidge gives him for less than a second before their face shifts back into its casual default setting. “Allura is lucky she got away with what she did. Plenty of other skaters have suffered spinal injuries, head injuries, have been stitched up like Frankenstein’s monster after running into their partner’s skates or smashing their face into the ice.” The two of them reach the doors leading to the rink and Pidge stops, hand resting lightly on the handle, to look at Keith fully. “It was scary but it was nothing compared to what _could have been_. We at least have that to be grateful for.”

Pidge seems -- strangely put together considering what happened a few hours ago. They can talk on and on about how these things are expected, about how dangerous figure skating is - but Keith remembers the panic in their eyes when Allura fell.

He remembers how they had reached out to Lance and how they had watched him leave like he might never come back.

“Um,” Keith shifts his weight to one side, scraping the bottom of his shoe against the floor like he’s cleaning it. “Has this happened before?”

“This?” Pidge raises an eyebrow at him.

“Someone falling.” Keith watches the change in their expression - their easy, open expression slowly melting into apprehension and guardedness - and yet he doesn’t stop himself from continuing. “Someone -- getting hurt.”

And then,

they look sad -

broken hearted.

Shoulders slumping, head tilted to look at him with a look that Keith can only describe as pity (even though he doesn’t understand why Pidge would be pitying him) and pulls their hand from the handle.

“Keith…” They sigh his name, heavy and slow, with the smallest shake of their head.

The murky fog that obscures his vision and hides his every step, so thick he can only barely make out the silhouette of someone ahead of him, tentatively starts to clear. With bated breath he watches Pidge, gnawing on their bottom lip, and the wisps slowly fade and swirl around the two of them as that barely-there figure begins to ease into clarity. That secret that’s been on the end of everyone’s tongue, that everyone has been stepping around like eggshells - it’s _right there_. Keith can see it, clinging to every one of Pidge’s movements like an early morning’s frost, the cold bite of its weight hanging over them while they stare back at him.

“Pidge.’ Keith takes one step closer to them as they drag in one more uncertain breath, on the verge of finally letting down their guard and letting him in. “Did someone get hurt?”

He was almost there, almost past the fog of unanswered questions and murky pasts, when Matt chooses _now_ to push through the rink doors, slamming them into Pidge in the process, and charge into the lobby.

Pidge lets out a yelp of surprise and tumbles forward, grasping at Keith’s sleeve to keep from slamming their face into the ground just as Matt reaches out for them.

“Shit!” Pidge rights themself and shoots Matt a dirty look. “Sorry, Pidge! I didn’t know you were there!”

“You don’t just _barge out!_ ” They throw their hands up at him. “Why are you in such a rush anyways?”

Matt - slightly out of breath, hair frazzled. “Coran - he just told me -” He reaches out, grabbing Pidge’s arm and staring at them intently. “Is she - is Allura okay?”

Pidge holds their hands up in front of them to calm him down. “She’s okay.” Matt doesn’t seem to snap out of his panic so Pidge continues, voice reassuring. “Really, Matt, it wasn’t anything serious.”

That seems to do _something_ , pulling a long sigh from the older boy, who presses a hand to his chest in relief. “Oh thank goodness.”

“Do you not have your phone on you?” Pidge frowns at him. “Shiro sent out a mass text like fifteen minutes ago.”

“I forgot to charge it last night so it died on the way here.” Matt explains. “What _happened?_ ”

Keith speaks up then, knowing full well what the panic blooming in Matt’s chest feels like. “She fell.” Matt, as if just realizing Keith is there, turns to him, eyes wide. “They were demonstrating a lift and Shiro just -- tripped.”

Another shaky sighs passes Matt’s lips as he imperceptibly shakes his head, looking between the two of them now. “But she’s… okay?”

“Sprained ankle and a concussion, but -” Pidge nods. “Yeah, she’s okay.”

“That - is such a relief.” Matt lays a hand on his sibling’s shoulder and bends forward like he’s suddenly exhausted. “I was really scared, honestly.”

Pidge just reaches up and pats his hand sympathetically, eyes soft. “We all were.”

“She was still shouting orders at everyone while Shiro dragged her out the door so don’t be too worried.” Keith smiles at Matt’s breathy laughter.

“That honestly doesn’t surprise me at all.” He pulls himself upright, features slightly more composed now. ”God, I’m so relieved.”

Keith turns his gaze downward and frowns, remembering Shiro’s horrified expression. “I can’t imagine how Shiro feels right now.”

“He feels guilty, I’m sure,” Matt starts and looks thoughtfully at Keith before continuing. “But he and Allura have been skating together for a long time now. This isn’t their first injury and it certainly isn’t their first fall.”

Keith hums to himself. “I guess I just assumed Shiro would be more… obsessive about it?”

“Shiro will be fine,” Pidge shakes their head. “He’ll spend the rest of today doting over her like her own personal nurse then he’ll be done. Trust me, I’ve seen it a few times now.”

“Wait,” Matt tilts his head as he frowns down at Keith. “Does this mean Allura _won’t_ be skating your recital with you?”

Keith isn’t fast enough in responding, instead, Pidge perks up and slaps Keith on the back. “Nope! That’s my job now.” The excited grin stretched across their lips quickly turns mischievous as they continue. “And I already have some ideas on how to add a little bit of _flare_ to the routine.”

“Pidge.” Matt fixes them with a stern glare. “ _No_.”

Pidge throws their hands up, exasperated. “Come on! This routine is so _simple_! Imagine how good Keith would look compared to all the other tadpoles when he -”

Matt holds up a hand, pinching the bridge of his nose like he has a headache. “I don’t care what the end of that sentence is because the answer is still ‘no’”.

“You -” Pidge huffs angrily. “-are so boring.”

“And I am perfectly fine with that.” Matt shakes his head at them, eyes full of warning, but eventually turns back to Keith. “So, Keith, how are you feeling about the recital?” The best way Keith can articulate his thoughts is through a long, drawn out sigh that just barely teeters on the edge of a groan. Matt laughs loudly. “That good, huh?”

“Don’t worry, Keith,” Pidge pats him gently on the arm and smiles gently at him. “You’ll do just fine. Besides, this is a beginner’s class. Shiro isn’t expecting perfection from any of you.”

Keith snorts disbelievingly. “Maybe not from the _kids_ , but I’m his _brother_. I’m also not a new skater - he has different expectations of me.”

“Keith.” Pidge frowns at him, confused. “You can’t actually believe that.”

Keith just shakes his head. “He used to coach me hockey. Trust me -  I know my brother.”

“Listen,” they stick their thumbs under the straps of their backpack and look at Keith more sincerely. “I don’t know what Shiro was like before he was _my_ coach, but he’s definitely not like that now.

“I don’t know…”

“They’re right,” Keith looks over to Matt when he interjects. The older boy tugs open the rink door, nodding for them to head inside, before falling into step beside Keith with Pidge trudging along behind them. “One time, during a huge competition, Pidge backed out of their triple axel -”

“Thanks for bringing that up again, Matt.” Pidge, sighing, mutters under their breath.

“- and Shiro barely even _mentioned_ it afterwards. He just hugged them and Hunk like they had won gold.” He reaches out to rest a hand on Keith’s shoulder as they draw closer to the boards. “You’re going to be okay, Keith.”

Keith iss unconvinced but isn’t really up for more of this conversation so he shrugs noncommittally and fiddles with the zipper on his bag. He grapples for a new topic, eager to direct them away from his to-be flop of a recital. “Do _you_ skate, Matt?”

“If you count wobbling around on the ice as skating, then yes.” He laughs and tosses his bag into a nearby seat. “But not competitively, no. Not like Pidge.”

“How did you end up here, then?” Keith gestures around to the rink.

“Well,” Matt rubs at the back of his neck. “I knew Shiro from school, even though we never talked much. Not until Pidge started skating here, at least. It just so happened that they needed a new tech guy and I was available.”

“It helps that you were a poor university graduate struggling to survive in this capitalist prison.” Pidge adds, voice flat and monotone.

“Yes, that definitely helped.” Matt smirks at them before turning back to Keith. “It’s a great job so I can’t really complain. _Although_ I could probably stand to lose my snarky sibling messing with my tech all the time but hey -” he shrugs “- I’ll take what I can get.”

“Excuuuse me, but I am a _great_ sibling.” They huff melodramatically and fold their arms over their chest while they look at him smugly. “You’d be lost without me.”

Keith looks back to Matt, expecting more teasing and sarcasm, but only finds fondness in his expression. He smiles affectionately at them, ruffling their hair into an even wilder mess than it usually is. “Yeah, I would be.”

Pidge just rolls their eyes and mutters something about Matt being a ‘mushy loser’ but Keith isn't really paying attention anymore.

 

His relationship with his own brother has changed a lot of the past five years, never truly returning to how it was before Shiro left the team. They used to be like Pidge and Matt, and to the outsider, they probably still look like they are. But, it’s not the same. There’s more to Pidge and Matt’s relationship than teasing and the occasional sarcastic remark; something deeper and more intangible than their every day banter. Keith and Shiro are still close, that much Keith is sure of - he just wonders how close they actually are. Watching Pidge and Matt behave this way - how he and Shiro used to be - feeds the blossoming nostalgia in his chest, growing like a weed in a garden. 

He’s maybe seven or eight years old, scrawny and uncoordinated, but Shiro, who really should have told his annoying younger brother to leave him alone, is horrendously patient with him as they repeat the same play over and over again in the driveway of their childhood home. They didn’t have a rink in their neighbourhood so they made do with a makeshift hockey net and some secondhand sticks their Mom found at a garage sale. They didn’t care much about the quality of it all, so long as it worked.

He doesn’t remember how many attempts it took for Keith to successfully handle the puck past his brother and into the net (answer: way too many), but it didn’t matter because Shiro was still so _stupidly excited_ when it happened. Eyes aglow with pride, he hooked an arm over Keith’s shoulders and squeezed him around their helmets and sticks. He, of course, didn’t miss the opportunity to playfully ruffle his hair and joke that Keith, in another ten years, might finally be good enough for the NHL drafts. Keith didn’t take his teasing seriously though, not with the warm smile lighting up his face.

They aren’t like that anymore.

Sure, Shiro was supportive and congratulatory when Keith would nail something during their after hours practices, but… there's something missing. They are leaps and bounds better than they used to be - there just... there always a discrepancy between how they used to be and who they are now. Moments like this one only serve to remind him of this.

 

Keith pulls himself from the conversation then, shuffling awkwardly as he clears his throat. “I should, uh, get going.” He gestures over his shoulder towards the doors. “We have one last game before finals next week and coach is on our asses about sticking to ‘healthy’ schedules so --”

Matt raises an eyebrow questioningly. “Off to the gym, then?”

“More like off to vegetate on my couch for the next seven hours.”

Matt just laughs and waves him off. “Sounds like a good plan. I’ll see you later, Keith.”

“Yeah -- alright, bye.” Keith tugs at the strap of his bag and starts up the aisle, putting his back between him and the burn of bittersweet nostalgia.

Pidge’s voice drifts up the aisle alongside him as they address their brother. “Why is it that when I want to skip a workout you chew me out but when he does it, you just laugh?”

“Well, dear little sibling, it’s my job as your older brother to harass you at every given opportunity.” There’s a chuckle there and the sound of someone being punched in the arm, and Keith bites his lip, hip against the door to push it open when a voice calls out to him.

Reluctantly, he turns back around. Pidge has become distracted by Hunk, who seems to have appeared from the other side of the rink, but Matt continues to look towards him, hands on his hips and smiling sincerely.

“Good luck at your recital.”

Keith, flustered and somewhat embarrassed, doesn’t have an answer to that, so he settles on a curt wave that definitely does not come off nearly as casual as he had hoped. Matt returns the gesture, nevertheless, and Keith just barely catches him placing a hand on Pidge’s shoulder before the door is swinging shut between them and he’s gone.

* * *

The morning of the recital day is full of anxiety, three full cups of coffee, and so much pacing that Keith begins to worry he’s going to wear a hole in his already shitty apartment floorboards. It took a full ten minute pep talk in his dirty bathroom mirror to get himself out the door, then another from Pidge when he called to backout halfway through the subway ride.

By the time he’s finally reached the arena, he’s jittery from both the caffeine and the nerves. The main lobby is buzzing with the sounds of excited parents bragging that their child is the next figure skating superstar while Keith picks his way past them, head ducked. He desperately tries to avoid eye contact with as many of them as he can, but Tia’s mom still sends him a bright smile accompanied by an enthusiastic thumbs up. It takes a lot of self control on Keith’s part to stop himself from smashing his face against the nearby wall, but he does manage to offer her a weak wave in return. He _knows_ Tia is talking him up to her mom (she’s essentially told him as much) so he has to wonder what the older woman must think of him.

It’s at that point, when the crowd starts to become just a little too dense for his liking, that he all but flees to the rink, doors slamming shut behind him. He takes a few steadying breaths, hands still splayed out against the door, and prays to whatever cosmic being is out there that he _won’t_ have a heart attack today. The doors have somewhat muted the squabbling parents lined up behind them but a new wave of noise wafts up from the ice.

“Keeeeeiiith!” A high pitched voice calls, dragging out the vowels of his name.

He turns, one hand still pressed to the door - ready to run at any given moment - and watches as Tia frantically waves at him from the edge of the ice. “Keith!” She calls out to him a few more times, drawing the attention of the other kids who join in on her yelling, so he caves - hauling himself over to her.

“Hi Tia,” he waves to the rest of the kids now crowd around her.

“Keith! Keith!” Tia practically jumps in place as she reaches out for his cuff, yanking it sharply. “Look at my new dress!” She gestures down at herself and pushes away from the boards so Keith can get a better look.

Aside from being _completely covered in rhinestones_ , it’s also -- incredibly adorable. Pale yellow against her dark skin, the sheer sleeves meet a sparkling bodice that glitters so brightly under the fluorescent lighting, Keith wonders if they’ll all go blind. She twirls her skirt in her hands and beams up at Keith.

“Isn’t it _pretty?”_ She slides in closer again, smile never fading. “Mom said it’s a present for all my hard work!”

Keith leans against the boards, arms folded under him as he finds himself smiling, too, her own obviously contagious. “I think it’s the prettiest dress I’ve ever seen, honestly.”

 _Somehow_ her smile grows even wider and she seems a loss for words. One of the other kids glides in beside her, leaning against her shoulder as he peers up at Keith a frown. “But Keith, where’s _your_ dress?”

He looks down at the red sweater and black sweats he unearthed from the several piles of clothing littering his apartment (he made sure it didn’t smell _too_ bad before putting it on) then looks out across the group of kids watching him eagerly. Not all of them are dressed like Tia, but they certainly aren’t dressed as sloppily as he is.

“Uh….” He reaches down to fiddle with the hem of his sweater. “I didn’t have anything super fancy so - a sweater is the best I’ve got.”

Tia looks him up and down, confused. “Don’t you have a nice sweater?”

“This…” Keith’s voice drops a few decibels. “....is my nice sweater.”

Tia just stares at him, obviously unimpressed by his lack of class, but his disappointment slowly shifts to confusion. She places both hands on the boards and hoists herself up as high as she can, peering closely at Keith’s face.

“What -” She frowns deeply. “-happened to your face?”

_Shit._

His black eye and swollen nose was _mostly_ healed up. The bridge of his nose and just under his eye are only a little bruised so he figured it would go unnoticed but, once again, Tia proves him wrong.

“Oh - that.” Keith clears his throat, unsure of what answer to actually give her.

Another kid zooms in on Tia’s other side, her eyes sparkling as she leans in. “ _Did you beat someone up?”_

“NO.” Keith holds his hands up in defense as the rest of the group start to get excited. A few of them start to chatter loudly amongst each other and he shushes them to stop the gossip. “No - it’s not like that.”

The same girl beside Tia drops her voice down to a whisper, eyes still alite. “Did someone beat _you_ up?”

That gets them started again, the chatter amping up as even Tia joins in, and Keith sighs, dejected. This isn’t going well. He’s contemplating fleeing once more when a hand rests on his shoulder and sees Tia’s face pull into a dark scowl.

“Yuuuup, that’s right, kids!” Lance smirks at them as he fans the flames. “The ice kicked his butt.”

Keith, jumping a little at his silent approach, looks up as he watches Lance drop his hands to his hips and smile even more broadly when the kids all turn their attention to him. He’s dressed in a black fitted coat that looks like it was just pulled from storage with a pop of deep purple peeking out from under it in the form of a knitted sweater. His neck, jaw, and chin are lost behind the fabric of a voluminous, canary-yellow scarf that is _almost_ as bright as the teasing smile stretched over his features.  
“Lance -” Keith starts but the boy from earlier interrupts him.

“The….” Most of the chatter has calmed down now that they’re all staring at Lance in anticipation and confusion. “Ice?”

“Uh huh,” Lance nods towards Keith, his smile pulling up one corner of his mouth. “Mr. Mullet here fell so hard on his face that he broke his nose.”

Tia rolls her eyes and fixes Keith with a pointed stare that literally makes him flinch while one of the other kids tils his head at Lance, eyebrows pulled together. “What’s a mullet?”

Before Lance has the chance to _completely_ ruin Keith’s life, he holds up a hand to stop whatever awful remark was about to leave his lips and looks at the herd of kids. “Okay guys I think that’s enough - shouldn’t you all be warming up?” A few of them groan in annoyance but no one really fights him on it. Not audibly, at least, as Tia has returned to flaring at Lance in contempt. Keith ducks his head into her line of sight. _“Tia.”_

Her glare isn’t nearly as potent when directed at him but it sure is stubborn and there are no hints of her backing down anytime soon. Keith sighs heavily. “Can I just have a few minutes? I _promise_ I’ll come find you afterwards.”

Tia still remains silent, letting her gaze drift marginally over Keith’s shoulder to Lance once more and Lance just rolls his eyes, scoffing loudly.

 _“Relax,_ Princess.” Keith pulls back to look at him as Lance shakes his head. “I’m not skating with him today so he’s all yours. We’re good.”

Tia drags her gaze up and down him slowly, as if sizing him up, but Keith can see the small spark in her eyes at Lance’s aptly chosen nickname. She catches Keith’s eye once more.

“You promise?”

Keith presses his hand over his heart and nods seriously. “Promise.”

Then, with one dramatic huff, she pushes the hair from her eyes and accepts her fate. “Fine. Let’s go warm-up before Coach Shiro gets here.” And, like a queen leading her royal guard away, Tia skates off with the rest of the class hot on her heels.

It takes about three seconds of silence for Keith to deeply regret sending Tia away.

With only him and Lance there, the space between them has grown awkward. It seems that neither one of them really knows what to say and is doing their best to avoid eye contact despite standing so close to one another. Keith starts and stops several sentences in his head but not of them ever reach his lips and the heaviness of the atmosphere only grows with each passing second. Lance is making no attempts to start a conversation either so Keith has to wonder if he’s panicking as much as he is. They haven’t seen each other since Allura fell and that definitely wasn’t the best note for them to end on, what with the mess of emotions floating above them.

Eventually Keith caves, taking in a deep breath to try to steady the shake of his voice. “So…” He leans back against the boards in an attempt to appear casual. “....why are you here?”

Lance shrugs, still not meeting his gaze. “I figured I should come watch my --” another awkward silence. “--student skate his first recital.”

“Hmm,” Keith hums as he tries to dissect the changing features of Lance’s expressions.

Silence falls over them again and Keith tries to reach for the loose threads of their weak conversation, desperate to fall back into their somewhat normal relationship.

Lance tugs at the scarf wound around his neck and undoes the buttons of his coat. _“That_ and Pidge threatened me.” He admits. “They’re small but terrifying.”

“I told them to leave you alone about it.” Keith groans, running a hand through his hair. “You didn’t have to come if you didn’t want to.”

“No, uh, it’s fine.” Lance shrugs again as he shoves his hands deep in his pockets. “Really. I - uh - wanted to come.”

Keith tries not to look too eager as he _finally_ catches Lance’s eye. “Yeah?”

“Yeah”. Lance blinks down at him, expression unchanging.

Another wave of awkward silence washes over them but Keith refuses to let it drown him, clearing his throat quickly. “Listen, um… are you - ?” He pauses, hesitant about bring up an obviously sensitive topic, but he just wants to know. “Are you… okay?”

“Yes?’ Lance looks confused when he answers, brows pulled together. “Why?”

“Well,” Keith shrugs and tries to keep his voice light as he continues. “You just seemed… off after Allura fell last week. I was - I guess I was worried.”

For a split second, there’s a flash of pain in Lance’s expression but it’s gone before Keith can even react and Lance is already waving his hand dismissively in the air. “Oh no, I’m fine, honestly. I was freaked out, that’s all.”

“...Are you sure?” Keith seems unconvinced by his response, eyes honed in on the way his easy smile his pulled just slightly too tight.

But Lance just laughs at him and ducks his nose into his bright scarf. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Keith watches the edges of Lance’s composure start to fray, unravelling like a rug that’s been walked over one too many times. He reaches out a hand, moving to rest it on his arm, and steps forward slightly. “Lance, listen -”

“Keith!”

He almost expects it to be Tia would screeched his name from the ice, but when he turns around it’s Shiro’s face that jumps into his vision. He has corralled them to one end of the rink and lined them up side by side while they chat. Even from here, Keith can easily spot the sparkling yellow of Tia’s outfit as she gestures wildly about something to the young boy beside her. Shiro, obviously confident that the kids will all wait patiently for him to return, steps off the ice and trudges over to Lance and Keith, effectively killing whatever moment was building between them.

Keith sighs at him and slides in beside Lance to face Shiro more fully. “Shouldn’t you be psyching up your students right about now?”

“Well,” Shiro folds his arm over his chest and raises an eyebrow at his brother. “I _would_ be, but one of my students isn’t on the ice yet.”

“Oh calm down,” Keith rolls his eyes and drops his bag onto one of the nearby seats. “I was just about to get ready.”

“Mmmhmm - cause I totally believe that.” Shiro looks over to Lance then, stepping back so Keith can throw himself down beside his bag and wrestle with his skates. “When I was Keith’s coach, he was _always_ the last of the team to be dressed and ready to go. It didn’t matter how early he got there, he’d wait until someone starting shouting at him to even open his equipment bag.”

Keith rolls eyes as he tugs sharply on his laces. “Ever think that I did that just to bother you?”

“Every game.” Shiro bats him across the head playfully but doesn’t press the issue.

Keith takes this as his chance to change the topic. “So, how’s Allura feeling?”

That pulls a long sigh out from Shiro’s chest, his shoulders dropping as if he’s suddenly exhausted. “She’s alright. Still a little dizzy - although she’ll never admit it - and can’t walk without crutches, but she’s better, that’s for sure.” He jabs his thumb over his shoulder to the opposite end of the rink. “She insisted that she come along today even though she needs to rest!” His voice grows louder towards the end of the sentence, probably hoping Allura will hear him, and Keith follows his gesture to where she sits, a pair of crutches resting in the empty seat beside her, waving happily towards them.

Keith snorts at Shiro’s look of annoyance when he’s turned back around. “Something tells me she’s not the kind of person who listens when someone tells her what to do.”

“You’re not wrong on that,” although he might try, a tiny smile breaks through Shiro’s frustration before he continues. “Anyways, how are you feeling? Are you ready for your big performance?”

 _“Uuuuggghhh,”_ Keith groans loudly as he pulls his second skate on and gets working on the laces. “Do I _have_ to do this to pass? Can’t you just - I don’t know… Take Lance’s word that I’m a good enough skater or something?”

Shiro hums quietly and looks over at Lance. “Lance?”

There’s a brief spark of hope in the desolate pit of nervousness eating away at Keith’s insides when he catches Lance’s eye. There’s a longer than comfortable pause as Lance seems to be mulling something over, hand reaching up to tap at his chin. Finally, he shakes his head. “I can’t say that that’s true - not without seeing a full routine.”

Keith gapes at him, the knot he was tying momentarily forgotten. _“What?_ But you _have_ seen a full routine! Several times! _You rehearsed it with me!”_

“Hmm,” Lance frowns as if he’s thinking deeply. “Nope… I can’t seem to remember that…”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Keith throws his head back as the other two just chuckle in amusement. “I will get both of you back one day I _swear.”_

“Well I don’t know about you, Lance, but I’m terrified.” Shiro is rewarded with a dark and threatening look but it doesn’t seem to bother him, still laughing as he moves on. “By the way, Mom wants to talk to you?”

That surprises Keith, his fingers stalling on the laces once more. “Mom? Why? What happened?”

“You see,” Shiro shrugs innocently, his eyes turned away from Keith. “I _might_ have told her about the recital.”

“You _WHAT??”_ Keith just stares in shock at his brother’s ‘I have done no wrong’ expression, wondering if it really is possible to get away with murder when there are so many people around.

“She asked me how my classes were this year!” Shiro throws his hands up as Lance snickers away behind him. “What was I _supposed_ to say to her?”

“NOT THAT.”

Shiro’s face quickly settles into a look of outrage and disappointment. “You want me to _lie?_ To our _mother?”_

_“YES.”_

“She probably just wanted to wish you good luck, honestly, Keith.” Shiro rolls his eyes and stuffs his hand into his coat pocket, pulling out his phone. “Look, I’ll just call her.”

“What? No!” Keith reaches for his brother’s arm but he easily sidesteps him, phone already pressed to his ear. Keith quickly tucks his laces into his boot and flies out of his seat to grab at the phone.

He is too late, however, because Shiro’s expression lights up into a smile as he presses a hand to Keith’s face, holding him an arm’s length away, and chirping happily into the phone. “Hi Mom!” Keith’s heart drops to his stomach and he flails once more for the phone, but Shiro pushes him away once more. “Yeah, I’m good - no, Mom, listen: Keith’s here. He wanted to say ‘hi’.”

“ _Shiro_.” Keith hisses at him, voice full of malice.

His brother takes no notice of the threat in Keith’s eyes and just laughs politely into the receiver. “Yeah, of course! Here I’ll pass you over to him.”

Then the phone is between them, screen light up with Shiro’s display picture of her that now stares Keith down while Shiro patiently waits for him to take the phone, eyebrows raised expectantly. There’s a few seconds where no one says anything during which Keith tries to silently beg his brother to _not do this._ But Shiro isn’t backing down and his mother’s confused and questioning voice is crackles out of the speaker.

He makes sure to shoot Shiro the angriest glare he can muster as he takes the phone from his outstretched hand and presses it to his ear. “Hi Mom.”

What comes through the phone in response isn’t quite ‘words’ more than it is incoherent babbling as his mother speeds through ten different sentences, in full Excited Mom Mode at this point.

Keith sighs loudly and tries to get her to _slow down._ “Mom! Wait, hold on I can’t - I can’t _hear_ you! Just give me a second -” He covers the mic and stares Shiro down. “You are so dead.”

“Tell Mom I love her!” Shiro calls to him as he trudges towards the doors of the rink for some privacy and Keith very aggressively flips him the bird, as his mom’s enthusiastic chatter starts up anew.

**  
**

Lance has just been taking in all of their sibling banter with a grin, soaking up any and all possible blackmail material he can get. Although he wishes he could hear whatever is being said, Lance settles for laughing at Keith’s frantic arm waving as he talks his mother down from (what Lance can only assume is) the ultimate Proud Mother pedestal. To his surprise, though, Keith stops halfway down the aisle, hand over the mic once again.

“Lance?”

Lance turns, still laughing a little to himself, and looks up at Keith’s somewhat softer expression. “Yeah?”

His eyes grows undeniably warmer as he smiles sincerely at Lance, cheekbones dusted in pink. “Thanks.”

Then his back is to Lance once more and he’s quickly retreating to the outer edge of the rink, leaving Lance to stare, dumbstruck, with his face burning despite the cool chill of the rink.

Shiro slowly leans into view as Lance snaps out of his stupor. “So.” Shiro raises a brow to punctuate his words. “You’re here.”

Suddenly on the defensive, Lance frowns at him, arms folding over his chest. “Yes. And?”

“Nothing.” Shiro shrugs nonchalantly, like he’s completely uninterested. “Just didn’t think you’d actually show up.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“That -” Shiro squints at him and takes one small step closer. “- is a great question.”

 _What is he getting at?_ Lance’s frowns deepens, confused by whatever implications Shiro is throwing his way. “You sure it was Allura who hit her head?”

_Ouch._

Lance flinches at that, his mouth working faster than his brain. He takes a step back, apology already on his lips, but Shiro holds up a hand and continues like nothing happened while Lance focuses on evening out his breathing.

Shiro nods off towards his brother, situation already diffused. “Thoughts on our eldest tadpole?”

Lance looks towards Keith, phone still pressed to his ear, and shrugs. “He’ll do fine - if he can get out of his own head.” Shiro hums thoughtfully to himself and nods in agreement, but doesn’t interrupt, so Lance continues. “He’s wound up way too tight and fixates on the littlest things that don’t even _matter_ . If he would just -- _calm down_ he’d be okay.”

Shiro, now smiling in silent amusement, hums once more. “Uh huh.”

“What?” Lance narrows his eyes suspiciously. “What is it?”

“Oh nothing,” he snickers. “I just remember having a similar conversation with Allura about a certain skater before _his_ first show…”

Lance scoffs at that. “Me? No way.”

“Yes way,” Shiro says, laughing.

 _“Shiro,”_ Lance says disbelievingly but Shiro just laughs harder. “I wasn’t like that! Nervous, sure, but Keith is something else entirely.”

Shiro shakes his head as his laughter finally subsides. “You know what, Lance, someday you’ll realize that you two are more alike than you think.”

“Okay _now_ I’m really starting to worry.” Lance reaches forward to press his hand his hand to Shiro’s forehead. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Oh stop it,” he bats Lance’s hand away with a small chuckle. “I’ve got to get going -”

“Yeah, yeah.” Lance waves him away. “Go give the tadpoles a pep talk before they collapse into a nervous puddle.”

Shiro looks back across the rink and gestures to where Allura is still sitting. “I’m sure Allura would like some company if you want to join her for the show.”

“I’m sure she’s also pretty eager to complain about your overbearing ass.” Lance teases.

“She’s _healing_.”

“Whatever.” Lance turns to begin maneuvering his way around the rink, waving over his shoulder as he goes. “Bye Shiro.”

The arena rafters are starting to fill up with parents - all, of course, on Allura’s side of the rink - so his plan to weave through the rows of seats is suddenly a lot more difficult than he had initially assumed. Most of the parents have cameras clenched in their hands as they scan the ice for their respective children, probably bragging about their skills to each other.

It takes a bit of work but Lance manages to pick his way over to Allura’s seat, clamping a hand down on the aisle seat and leaning in to catch her attention.

“Lance!” She jumps a little but her features settle back into a friendly smile pretty quickly.

Lance smiles back as he swings himself into the seat beside her. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” she shakes her head. “It’s really not that bad.”

“Shiro seems to think otherwise,” Lance remarks as he unwinds the scarf from his neck and tucks it into his coat pocket.

“At first he was -- slightly overbearing. But he’s calmed down since.” Allura sighs heavily and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “It took some… convincing but - he’s alright now.”

Lance lolls his head back to stare at her, unconvinced. “If you tell me that he _hasn’t_ offered to carry you somewhere at least ten times this week I will literally quit skating.”

Allura just purses her lips and looks away without answering.

“Thought so,” Lance snorts and pulls his coat off to lay it against the back of his seat.

Several beats of silence pass before either of them speak but it doesn’t carry that same awkwardness as his and Keith’s did. It’s replaced instead by the heaviness of unspoken fears that loom over him every second of his life that threatens to suffocate him until Allura breaks it -

“So…” She pauses, long enough to draw Lance’s gaze back up to her. “How are _you?”_

It’s a simple question that Lance has been carefully dodging every time it’s been lobbed his way, but this time he actually considers it. It’s Allura. She knows him. How _is_ he? It had been a shock to see Allura fall - the person you are supposed to be learning from, modeling yourself after - and that had really gotten to him. He had spend the rest of that day locked in his room, music blaring so loudly from his headphones he was actually surprised he wasn’t deaf when his phone had finally died and silence washed over him once more. He didn’t even respond when Hunk had come home and knocked on his door for the first time.

Or the second. Or the third. Or the -

But he was good at this, at blocking it all out until he’s numb once more.

So,

How _is_ he feeling?

Setting his jaw, he turns back to Allura with a forced smile painted onto his lips.

How he’s feeling is inconsequential.

“I’m good.” He lies and Allura just stares at him blankly. “No really, Allura. I’m okay.”

She reaches out and very gently places her hand on his arm, gaze soft as she speaks in a hushes voice. “I don’t want to pressure you to do anything, but if you ever want to talk - “

“Allura.” That’s when his composure cracks slightly, revealing the exhaustion he carries in his chest and the weight that bears down on him. “Please.”

She watches him a few seconds longer but eventually concedes, nodding solemnly. “Okay. Just know that… I worry about you sometimes.” Lance doesn’t respond, hoping to god that his silence will direct her to a new topic and - by some strange stroke of luck - it does. She leans back in her seat, her eyes drifting towards the ice once more. “I really _do_ feel bad for leaving Keith without a partner.”

“Allura, honestly, I don’t think anyone blames you for that.” Lance gestures out towards the line up of kids - which now includes both Keith and Pidge. “Besides, he’s got Pidge now. He’ll be fine.”

“Of course.” She pauses briefly, as if something just occurred to her. “You know, I’ve yet to see Keith skate anything more than a few moves in succession.”

“What? Really?”

She shrugs lightly. “I don’t teach the tadpole classes so I’m never there to see him actually skate. Shiro speaks quite highly of his skills but I’d love to see in person.”

“Well,” Lance snorts as he watches Shiro approach the lineup and kneel down to say something. _“I’ve_ seen it in person and I can tell you: he skates like every other beginner skater you’ve seen.”

Allura frowns at him in disapproval. “Lance, I’ve trained many different skaters over the years so trust me when I say that they are not all the same.”

“Well, you’re right about that. I definitely wasn’t the same as them - I was better.” Lance brushes his hair back dramatically but Allura just rolls her eyes at him.

“And twice as stubborn and thrice as frustrating to train.”

Lance raises his brows at her in surprise but a small chuckle escapes nevertheless. “Have you been spending more time with Pidge? Your snark is stronger than usual.”

“Being cooped up for four days will do that to a person.” She shrugs.

“Stir crazy?”

Allura presses a hand to her face and sighs heavily. “You have no idea.”

“I think I can relate, honestly.” He turns away from her then, not fast enough to catch the sympathetic wince she shoots his way, and is just about to wave away her distress when a flit of movement in the corner of his eye pulls at his attention. Hunk’s lumbering figure drops down in the seat beside him (making Lance practically jump out of his skin), smile bright and excited. “So!” He throws an arm across the back of Lance’s seat and jerks his chin in the direction of the ice. “Ready to see your prodigy student blow everyone away?”

Lance snorts loudly and unattractively and shakes his head, short bangs falling against his forehead. “I don’t think prodigy is the right word for our mulleted tadpole.”

“Hey now, soon enough he’ll be -” he presses his shoulders to his ears, like they’re more heavily muscled and holds his arms out awkwardly at his side.

Lance catches on and joins in on the end of his sentence, dropping his voice an attempt to match Shiro’s deeper pitch. “- _‘hopping around on the ice like frogs!’”_

Allura tries to stare at them in disappointment but she can’t control the small giggle in her voice when she scolds. “Hush, you two - don’t forget that he’s your coach.”

“Allura,” Hunk leans forward to meet her gaze. “That’s _exactly_ why we do this.”

Lance places a hand over his heart like he’s taking an oath. “It is our sworn duty as his students to dedicate our every waking moment to mocking him.”

“It’s a dirty job but someone has to do it.” Hunk nods solemnly and mimics Lance’s gesture. Allura just whacks Lance on the back of the head - not hard enough to hurt - and covers her laughter with her hand as if they don’t know she teases Shiro as much as they do.

And, of course, it’s then that the devil himself claps his hands, the sound echoing throughout the hall, and shouts for everyone’s attention. Allura has to shush them a few more times before they settle down long enough to hear Shiro’s speech about how hard the tadpoles have been working and how proud he is of the progress they have made. However, if Lance is being honest, he’s not _entirely_ listening. He’s seen a few of these ‘recitals’ in the past and, while the both the kids and Shiro acting like they’re centre ice at the olympics, it’s really just a quick runthrough to prove they’ve at least learn _something_ throughout the lessons. Shiro isn’t looking for a gold winning performance or even perfect execution, he mainly does this to get the kids excited and the parents gushing.

After Shiro has hyped everyone up enough and the crowd has their cameras locked in front of their faces to record every single second, the first of the pairs is waved forward. Allura, eyes bright and hands clasped in front of her, leans forward in her seat and watches intensely. The pair themselves are bouncing with excitement as they slowly ease towards the centre.

Shiro raises his voice once more but his tone is lighter this time, directed more to the kids. “Alright, now remember: if you make a mistake, just keep going.” He smiles warmly at them all. “And try to have fun, okay?”

While the kids nod enthusiastically and Shiro moves to start the music, Lance drags his gaze down the line up of kids standing off the ice. Most of them look alright, save for one or two who are definitely starting to feel the nerves. What Lance has learned from the younger skaters at the Arena is that kids don’t obsess like adults do. Lance spends most of the weeks leading up to competitions nitpicking his routine and technique, whereas kids just -- go for it. They don’t overthink it, they don’t psyche themselves out, they don’t do any of the stupid shit the adults do. Lance envies their naivety and lack of self doubt - it’s something he hasn’t felt in a long time.

However, towards the end of the line and not nearly as composed, is Keith.

Pale, visibly terrified, and literally searching for the closest exit so he can make a break for it. If it wasn’t for Pidge’s hand clamped tight around his arm, he’d be gone.

Pidge, on the other hand, looks flat out bored. Blank faced, they lean against the boards and watch the current pair stomp through their choreography like they’d rather be literally anywhere else. Keith leans down and says something to them, anxiety jumping across his features, but they just shake their head at him, never relaxing their grip on his arm. They seem outrageously casual compared to Keith, save for the one arm they keep awkwardly wrapped around their stomach where they hold a fistful of their baggy hoodie in their hand.

_Wait -_

Lance squints at them, trying to make sure he’s not mistaken, but - nope he’s right. They’re wearing their raggy, old hoodie that Matt gave them from his University days. The one they usually only wear as either pajamas or during long road trips to competitions. Pidge never wears bulky clothing when they skate bc it ‘impedes their movements’, so why were they this time?

The crowd (larger than usual but nothing compared to competition crowds) applauds as the music winds down and the first pair bows. Shiro high fives them both as they glide off the ice before gesturing for the next pair to move forward.

Lance sighs, sinking further into his seat and folding his arms over his chest. Now they must all sit through the exact same routine performed another eight times and try not to lose interest halfway through.

With each passing pair, Lance’s interest slowly dwindles but somehow Shiro remains just as enthusiastic as he did at the start of the recital. Allura, as well, cheers loudly from the stands and waves at the students as they gather off the rink when they’ve finished.

Most of the kids skate how Lance expected they would. The only exception, of course, is Tia. She outshines her partner in both skill and rhinestones, her movements smooth and precise like she’s been skating for years. Partway through her routine, Lance looks towards Allura, brows raised, and she nods silently as she watches Tia effortlessly glide into her waltz jump.

“Shiro and I have already spoken to her mother about continuing lessons,” Allura nods towards the group of parents to where the older woman sits, phone held up to record her daughter’s perform with unbridled pride in her eyes. “She seemed open to the idea but wanted Tia to agree to it first.” They both turn back to the ice as the applause begins. Tia, arms outstretched, bows dramatically to the crowd and waves like she’s addressing a throng of adoring fans until she’s all but pushed off the ice by her annoyed partner.

Lance rolls his eyes and looks to Allura once more, smiling. “I don’t think there will be any problems there.”

“She sure does love the limelight.” Allura notes.

Hunk leans in there, his shoulder pressed in against Lance as he nudges him jokingly. “Well, well - doesn’t that remind you of someone else we know?”  
“Hey!” Lance shoves him back and points accusingly at him. “It’s not vain if you deserve it.”

Hunk just laughs fondly and runs a hand through his hair but Lance is momentarily distracted by Matt suddenly appearing in the aisle beside him, out of breath and hair wild.

“Matt?” Lance watches him drop into a seat behind them with a long, drawn out sigh.

“I didn’t miss Keith’s performance did I?” He leans forward and scans the ice with wide eyes. “He hasn’t gone yet, right?”

“You just made it.” Allura gestures to wear Keith waits by the edge of the boards. “Keith’s up next.”

Matt whips his head towards her, as if he just realized who he was sitting by, and Lance can see the panic flash across his face. “Allura! I didn’t kn- are you -? How -” He stumbles through the beginning of several more questions before Allura reaches out and gentle places her hand on his, patting it softly twice.

“Matt,” She smiles warmly. “I’m fine. It’s alright.”

Matt doesn’t respond right away, instead he just takes her hand in his while he stares at her very seriously. Lance doesn’t quite understand what Allura does to get him to calm down, but eventually he squeezes her hand once before letting go and turning back to the ice. Shiro has just waved Keith and Pidge forward (the latter literally dragging the former to centre ice) when Matt leans against the back of Lance’s seat.

“Wait…” Lance looks at the side of Matt’s face as he talks, voice lowered. “Why is Pidge dressed like that?”

“It’s weird, right?” Lance whispers back.

Matt’s brow furrows and he sets his lips in a tight line, mumbling quietly to himself. “Something is off here.”

Down on the ice, Pidge practically hauls Keith in beside them (who looks absolutely horrified) and nods at Shiro to start the music. At this point, most of the parents have checked out and are more than ready to gather up their children and leave for whatever celebratory plans they have lined up. Keith doesn’t seem to notice this, though, visibly vibrating with nerves as the first few notes of Shiro’s peppy pop song float through the arena.

The routine starts as Pidge and Keith work through the beginnings of their simple step sequences and, so far, Keith isn’t skating any differently than he did on Friday. Maybe a little stiffer, but it’s nothing outrageously different. The biggest difference - shockingly - is in Pidge’s skating. They’re movements are closed off and unpolished despite their many years of experience, and Lance is beginning to wonder if this is an imposter skating alongside Keith. He watches as they fumble through their choreography, their one arm still held close to them like they’ve injured it.

“Hunk?” Lance leans closer to him to be heard.

“Yeah?”

“Did Pidge get hurt in practice recently?” Lance watches as they almost, _almost,_ fuck up a simple jump.

“Not that I’m aware of, no.” Hunk peers over at him in confusion. “Why?”

Then, Matt’s hand is on his shoulder and squeezes tight. “Oh no. _Oohhhh, no. Something very bad is about to happen.”_

“What?”

“Pidge could skate this routine in their sleep.” Matt grabs a fistful of his hair with his free hand, death grip increases on Lance’s shoulder.

Allura, not turning away from the ice, just shrugs. “Maybe they’re having a bad day?”

“No, Allura, listen.” Lance physically pries Matt’s hand from his shoulder while he talks but the older boy barely notices. “I’ve known Pidge for eighteen years and I can promise you: something is _very_ wrong here.”

Lance drags his gaze towards Shiro leaning against the board and he also looks suspicious, eyeing Pidge like they’re a thief in a department store. It’s not until they just barely make it through their waltz jump that Matt _really_ starts to worry. He stands up, as if to sprint down to the ice and shake some sense into his sibling, but Hunk snags his arm along the way and drags him back into his seat.

“You can’t just interrupt Keith’s first routine!” He scolds sharply, making sure that Matt isn’t going anywhere before he turns back to the ice.

“Oh my _god,”_ Matt just drops his head into his hands. “What if they actually rigged up the pyrotechnics??”

On the ice, Keith eases into a series of crossovers and Lance waves his hands at Matt, shushing him aggressively. _“Ssshhh,_ Keith’s waltz is up next!”

Lance leans in beside Allura, both of them watching intently, and she quietly asks. “Has he landed it yet?”

“Barely,” Lance gaze follows Keith as he slowly picks up speed. “He landed it but it was shaky and toe-footed.”

Hunk folds his arms over his chest and hums to himself. “Well, here’s his chance to nail it.”

Slowly, Keith lifts his arms out beside him and looks over his shoulder to where he’s headed, eyes focused and movements much steadier now. He begins to shift his weight to one foot, swinging the other forward, and (before Lance can even hold his breath in anticipation) Keith has landed the jump - no wobble, no hesitation, and no broken noses. Not wasting any time, he takes off towards Pidge for their closing choreography and from even this far away his pride is palpable, coming off of him in waves.

Lance just barely holds back his cheers long enough for them to finish their routine and, at that point, he and Hunk are already on their feet, howling at the top of their lungs. Based on their reactions, you’d guess they’d have just placed gold at the next winter olympics and not just land a simple single jump but they honestly don’t care. Their celebrations don’t last long, though, as they’re swiftly cut off by a loud bang the reverberates through the room and silences the crowd. In an instant, all eyes are back on the ice where both Pidge and Keith have disappeared behind a cloud of multicoloured confetti.

“Oh.” Matt stands up slowly from his seat, mouth agape. “My. God.”

“How did they hide that throughout the whole routine?” Hunk looks less angry than he does impressed, with a bright sparkle in his eye.

The confetti cannon, now discarded on the ice while Pidge jumps excitedly next to Keith, is nearly as long as their torso and easily the width of their arm. Lance can’t even deny his respect for not only Pidge’s guts to pull something like this, but their ability to get through the routine while smuggling that under their jacket the whole time.

“Under their damn baggy sweater that’s how,” Matt heaves out a sigh and snatches his bag up to haul it onto his shoulder. “Y’know I’m just happy no one died and the arena _isn’t_ on fire.”

Hunk watches him shuffle into the aisle, laughing under his breath. “So you’re saying you’re _not_ going to kick their butt?”

“Nope.” He waves over his shoulder as he strolls down towards the ice. “They’re dead.”

Allura, now pulling herself to her feet, shakes her head. Lance reaches out for her as he too rises, clasping her hand in his as Hunk snags the crutches she had leaned against the seats. “I guess I should follow him to ensure that he doesn’t _actually_ kill them.”

“Here, I’ll help you,” Hunk jumps in beside her the second she’s in the aisle.

“Oh no, there’s no need.” She tries to grab at her crutches but Hunk holds them out of her reach and nods down towards the rink.

“There is a swarm of parents all trying to get pictures of their children,” Hunk offers out his arm for her to take. “I’m not gonna make you hop through them on one foot.”

Allura follows his gestures down to the growing clump of parents all pushing forward to reach the boards first. She sighs and, with a small smile, takes his arm to fall him beside him. “Alright - let’s just get to Matt before he gets to Pidge.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s not _actually -”_

“SHIRO!”

All of their heads turn towards Matt’s voice ringing out over the buzzing of the parents’ chatter, crystal clear. Lance spots him leaning over the boards, hands cupped over his mouth as he calls out to a somewhat flustered looking Shiro. He spins on his place on the ice, follow the sound, and Matt aggressively points a finger in Pidge’s direction.

_“GRAB. THEM.”_

Hunk, repositioning Allura’s hand on his arm to support more of her weight, raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Okay so maybe he will.” Then they’re headed down the aisle leaving Lance to watch as Shiro politely excuses himself from the students crowded around his legs and takes off towards Pidge.

Pidge, finally realizing there’s a bounty on their head, pats Keith once on the arm before skating _full speed_ away from their approaching coach. It doesn’t really do them much good, though, as Shiro easily catches up to them and scoops them up onto his shoulder like they way five pounds. Pidge fights and complains at first but whatever Shiro shouts back to them seems to take the wind out of their sails and they go limp, arms hanging down Shiro’s back.

Lance laughs to himself, wrapping his scarf back around his neck and folding his jacket over his arm as he begins to pick his way through the rafters to a less crowded aisle. The confetti has obviously all settled at this point but most of the kids have taken to tossing handfuls of it into the air while their parents snap candid shots of them. This includes Tia, who has taken Pidge’s place at Keith’s side and is currently lobbing handful after handful of confetti at Keith’s face. He just shields his face for the first two confetti bombs, but after numbers three and four, he fights back.

Quickly gathering discarded confetti into one hand, he dives her and dumps it onto her head while she squeals, scrambling away from him. Their laughter is audible even over the loud chattering of the crowd, which only grows in intensity when Keith pokes her jokingly in the stomach. It isn’t until Lance is leaning against the boards, smiling at them, that Keith notices him. He raises a hand to wave at him and that’s what catches Tia’s attention as she brushes confetti from her clothing. Keith leans down to say something to her quietly, extends his hand - which she doesn’t hesitate to take - and begins leading them both over to Lance.

“So, how does it feel to have officially graduated to frog status?” He smiles once they’re within earshot.

Lance notes the confetti stuck in his hair and the few pieces tucked into his sweater collar as Keith rolls his eyes but Tia beats him to the punch, swinging their interlocked hands between them. “Do frogs get to learn the big jumps?”

“The _biggest,”_ Lance smirks at the spark in her eyes and tilts his head as he looks at her expectantly. “I guess that means you’re continuing lessons?”

She shrugs, “If my mom says I can.”

“Well,” Lance peers down the rink to where Tia’s mother politely chats with the other parents. “I think you should probably talk to her soon, then.”

Tia’s head whips toward her mother then back to Keith, excitement just barely contained, but Keith just raises his eyebrows at her.

“Tia,” his gaze flicks briefly up at Lance. “Isn’t there something you want to say?” Her enthusiastic expression shifts abruptly into a pout and she drops her eyes to the ice without answering him. Keith shakes their joined hands gently. _“Tia.”_

Very dramatically, she sighs and throws her head back. “I’m _sorry.”_

Lance blinks at her, confused, and Keith nudges her to continue. “For…?”

Her next sigh is more of a groan that anything but she doesn’t argue. “For how rude I was to you.”

She certainly isn’t happy about the apology but it seems like Keith is satisfied with it, drawing his attention back up to Lance with a pleased smile while Tia keeps her gaze on the ice, hand still held in Keith’s. It takes Lance a few seconds to notice Keith staring at him expectantly and then a not-so-subtle clearing of his throat before Lance catches on.

“Oh! Uh - “ Lance shrugs when Tia makes eye contact, obviously still not pleased about the current state of affairs if her frown is any indicator. “No worries, Princess. I wasn’t exactly the nicest either so - yeah, I’m sorry, too.”

Her frown depends for a few seconds, lips pursed as she mulls over his response. For someone who barely comes up to his hips, she sure is intimidating with her calculating expression and sharp, narrowed eyes. She eventually deems his apology acceptable and lets go of Keith’s hand to rest both of hers on her hips.

“Whatever - neither of us got to skate with Keith so it’s fine.”

Keith sighs at that but she doesn’t give him an opportunity to scold her anymore, taking one small step back. “I’m gonna go see my mom now - we’re going out for pizza with my grandma!”

“Well, we wouldn’t want to keep you from your pizza.” Keith nods towards the rest of the parents. “Go on.”

She smiles and offers both of them a quick wave before taking off down the ice, hands swishing against the sparkling fabric of her skirt.

“She sure is energetic, isn’t she?” Lance snorts.

“She’s something, that’s for sure…” Keith reaches back to tug his ponytail tighter with a chuckle. “She was a bit much at first but she’s grown on me.”

“Don’t _even,”_ Lance rolls his eyes at him. “You adore her and we all know it.”

“Well…” Keith mumbles something indecipherable but doesn’t deny it.

Lance _could_ tease him some more about it, but he figures Keith’s had enough stress for the day and changes the topic, leaning his forearms on the boards once more. “You know, you actually did pretty well, today.”

 _“Really?”_ Keith places his hands on his knees and breathes in deeply before continuing. “‘Cause I felt like I was gonna hurl the whole time.”

Lance laughs at that and Keith tilts his head to the side to peer at him curiously. “Trust me, we could tell.”

“Great.” Keith straightens himself out with a breathy chuckle. “Let’s just be glad I didn’t actually do it, then.”

Lance just smiles at him (something he seems to be doing a lot today, he realizes) but is distracted by again by the few pieces of confetti in Keith’s hair, bright against the dark strands. It’s a few seconds of silence before Keith frowns and slides a few inches away from Lance and his staring.

“What is it?” He reaches up to wipe at his face, glancing down at his hand but finds nothing. “What are you staring at?”

“You...” Lance pauses and gestures for Keith to step closer - which he does, slowly. “You have confetti in your hair.”

“Oh?” He reaches up to fluff up the short strands framing his face and a few pieces of confetti float smoothly down to the ice, abandoning the one stubborn red flake that refuses to move. “Did I get it?”

Lance, his stomach pressed against the boards, quirks his finger at Keith and he glides even closer. “There’s just -” Before he can really contemplate what he’s doing, Lance is reaching out to unwind the confetti from his hair. Keith flat out freezes, the slow rise and fall of his chest stopping when Lance’s hand nears his face, and he stares at him with wide eyes and parted lips. Lance brings his hand in between them to show the red confetti piece resting on his index finger. “- one more.”

Lance’s focus shifts from his fingertip to Keith’s face as he blinks once. “Thanks.” His expression has barely changed the whole time, safe for the faint gradient of pink spread across the bridge of his nose and cheekbones. It finally occurs to him that _maybe_ they’re standing just a little too close to each other and that _maybe_ he should lean back, or move away, or _something -_ but he doesn’t.

Why doesn’t he?

Why doesn’t _Keith?_

Lance searches the planes of Keith’s features for some indication of how he’s feeling but, with the painful thudding of his heart against his ribcage and the sudden tightness of his chest, he’s coming up blank. Somewhere at the back of his mind, warning sirens are blaring at him and his own blush creeping up his chest and neck. He’s not paying attention, though, not when Keith’s softly smiles at him and raises an eyebrow questioningly, and certainly not when he blows the confetti off his finger and into his face.

In fact, he’s not really paying attention to much else right now. He’s finding it pretty hard to look away if he’s honest.

“Get ‘em all?” Keith asks as the confetti clings to Lance’s eyelashes for a second before drifting down to join the others. It occurs to Lance that he doesn’t know how to respond, doesn’t know if he _can_ respond - so he stares on blankly until Keith frowns and tilts his head. “What? What is it now?”

Lance opens his mouth to say something that would have been painfully ineloquent if it weren’t for a Pidge-shaped rocket slamming into Keith. A sharp _ooof!_ whooshes out of Keith along with all of the air in his lunges as Pidge wraps their arms around Keith’s stomach and squeezes tight, staring at him with a bright grin.

“You did it!” They rock Keith back and forth for a few seconds as he catches his breath and stares at them dumbly. “You passed, I didn’t get murdered by my brother and Shiro, and now Shiro is offering to take us all out for dinner!”

Lance finds his voice (even though it’s a little squeaky), glaring at them angrily. “How do you _do_ that?” They take a step back from Keith and stare back at Lance as he gawks. “You know that if any of us pulled anything remotely close to what you pulled today, we’d be dead for sure!”

“Probably,” they shrug and push their glasses higher up on their nose. “But I’m adorable so it’s fine.”

Lance jabs his finger at them but they just watch, unphased. “One day, Pidge. One day you’re gonna fuck up so badly that even your adorable button nose can’t fix it.”

“That’s impossible.” They roll their eyes and turn back to Keith. “You coming to dinner? Shiro’s paying.”

Keith laughs softly, no longer wheezing from Pidge’s impact, and looks down at them. “I am always happy to take my brother’s money. Just name the time and place.”

“We have to wait for Shiro to stop schmoozing with the tadpoles’ parents but then we’re headed to a diner down the street.”

Lance cuts in then, hands grabbing at the boards. “The deep dish pizza restaurant?I love that place! We went there after my first nationals performance and I almost fell into a food coma.”

“Are you coming with?” Keith looks towards him with an easy smile and Lance tries his best to not read too much into how eager he looks.

Lance smirks at him and tilts his head. “What? Am I not allowed?”

“No that’s not - !” Keith backpedals, holding his hands up in front of him in a panic. “I mean, only if you _want_ to…”

“I was joking, Keith.” Lance laughs at his sudden flailing and begins pulling his coat back on.

Pidge frowns, actually hoping over the boards to sit down in the rafters. “That’s weird… because it wasn’t funny.”

Lance just sticks his tongue out at them, a gesture they are quick to reciprocate, before Keith takes a few steps back.

“I’m uh,” he jabs his thumb over his shoulder towards the slowly dwindling group of parents and tadpoles. “I’m gonna go get my bag and -- stuff. I guess I’ll meet you guys outside?”

Pidge shoots him a thumbs up and Lance just nods. “Sounds good.”

Keith stands there awkwardly for a few more seconds before he takes off towards the other end of the ice to where Shiro still mingles. Lance buttons up the last of his jacket buttons and turns to lean back against the boards with a sigh. Pidge pauses in undoing their laces to watch him.

“What?” Lance narrows his eyes at them but they just continue to stare, a shiteating grin slowly creeping onto their face. _“What?”_

“Nothing.” They singsong, turning back to the task at hand and giggling quietly to himself.

Normally, Lance would press for answers but, in all honesty, his heartbeat is still a little too irregular for him to be able to care all that much.

* * *

Keith hasn’t gone out to dinner with his brother in a long time and he definitely doesn’t remember it being this rowdy.

Pidge and Hunk have been talking nonstop for the past twenty minutes about how Pidge built their confetti cannon - a conversation Keith quickly loses track of when they start using words he hasn’t even _heard_ before. Lance dances between several different conversations at once like he can’t seem to focus on just one for more than a few minutes before getting distracted. It would be impressive if it didn’t involve a few teasing digs about Keith’s routine today, all of which earn Lance a dark scowl. Allura very politely talks to Keith about his routine and how Provincials are. Keith notices, however, that after a few drinks she starts to gush more than anything and it pulls a few deep blushes out of him that Shiro just laughs at. Matt, surprisingly, is just as loud as his sibling - talking across the table to Shiro about the tech for Pidge and Hunk’s upcoming competition as well as other technical things that fly over Keith’s head.

“Oh!” Pidge slams their hand down on the table when Matt brings up their free skate arrangement. “That reminds me!” They whirl on Keith, jabbing their fork in his direction. “You’re coming to our competition in a few weeks.”

“Me?” Keith mumbles around a mouthful of food.

“Yes, ‘you’!” Hunk whacks him once on the back which makes him hack unattractively when a piece of pizza crust lodges itself in the back of his throat. “You’ve only ever seen a tadpole recital in person so this is the perfect opportunity to see what figure skating is all about.”

Pidge stabs a cherry tomato violently as they continue on. “Besides, you’re our friend and - if I’m being honest - I’m freaking out a bit about this competition so,” they send him a sincere smile and pop the tomato into their mouth. “It would be nice to have you there.”

If he were the grinch, his heart would grow three times its size, but instead he just covers his smile with his hand, coughing lightly a few more times. “Uh - sure. Okay.”

Pidge cheers loudly which earns them not only a glare from a passing waiter but also from Shiro, who bats them on the back of the head.

His brother turns to him, now finished with his food and leaning back in the booth, his arm slung over the back of it behind Allura. “If you really want to go, I can drive you. I’ve got some space still in the car.”

Keith just shrugs but doesn’t answer because Pidge has started loudly chanting ‘ROAD TRIP ROAD TRIP ROAD TRIP’ and drawing in the attention of other diners. Hunk shoves a piece of pizza in their mouth to silence them, sighing loudly.

“Wait,” Allura starts. “It won’t conflict with your Provincials finals will it?”

Keith shakes his head and pushes his plate away from him, finally done. “Nope. Provincials are next week.”

“Ooohh,” Lance bumps against his shoulder teasingly. “You gonna kick their asses?”

Keith just shrugs. “Maybe, I don’t know. They’re pretty tough but Coach has been working us nonstop this season so it’s probably gonna be a pretty close game.”

“You’re playing the Robeasts, right?” Shiro asks and Keith nods.

Lance leans forward on the table to stare at Keith more directly. “Who are the Robeasts?”

“They’re our biggest competition and I guess our rivals?” Keith leans back into cushions of the booth and folds his arms. “We almost always end up playing them so this isn’t really a surprise.”

“Well damn,” Lance says as he reaches forward to snag a leftover slice of pepperoni from Hunk’s plate and sticks it into his mouth. “Are these things recorded? ‘Cause that sounds intense.”

Keith pauses, biting his lip as he thinks his words over in his head. He hasn’t invited anyone to his games for a long time, especially considering his parents live so far away from him and Shiro just shows up anyways - he hasn’t really had anyone else he _wanted_ to invite. His coach encourages them all to bring their family along - probably because it gets them hyped up to win - so she probably wouldn’t mind if Keith brought them along. Besides, he was just invited to _their_ game… It’s really only fair.

“I mean,” Keith reaches for the table cloth, fiddling with it absentmindedly. “They might be but you guys could always just… come along…” He shrugs and drops his gaze. “If you wanted to, you know.”

Keith doesn’t know what kind of reaction he was expecting, honestly, but it was a relief when he slowly looks back up to see them all excited and wide eyed.

“Really?” Hunk drops his fork and looks at him. “I haven’t been to a hockey game in _years.”_

“Don’t feel like you have to come -” Keith starts.

“Can we wear facepaint?” Pidge leans forward, their interest suddenly peaked.

“Um…” Keith frowns, confused. “Sure?”

“I’m in.” They fold their arms and nod seriously.

Matt just laughs at his sibling before sending Keith a bright, supportive smile. “I’ll have to see about my schedule - I’ve got a busy few weeks coming up but I will try my best.”

“We’ll be there,” Allura gestures between her and Shiro, her eyes warm. “Of course.”

 _“Hunk.”_ Lance slams his hands down on the table, sending a few forks clattering off of his and Keith’s plates, and stares intently at Hunk across from him. “Don’t we still have those noise makers from Nationals a few years ago?”

Hunk’s eyes start to sparkling mischievously as a smile blooms across his face. “We _do.”_ _  
_ “Whoa whoa- ” Keith holds up his hands to stop their current train of thought and draws their attention to them. “I appreciate you guys coming to the game and all but _please_ try not to get kicked out. Okay?”

Hunk, after a few seconds of thought, slowly places his hand over his heart in a silent oath. Keith moves his attention over to Lance who just rolls his eyes.  
“Yeah yeah - I won’t get us kicked out.” He huffs as he leans back in the booth. “But I’m _bringing_ those noise makers and you can’t stop me.”

Keith just laughs as the conversation drifts elsewhere and the natural rhythm of socializing takes over once more. Lance and Hunk seem to be communicating silently to one another which sets off a few alarms but Keith ignores them in favour of the slow fluttering deep in his chest. The constant hum of voices filling the restaurant mingle with the clanging of cutlery as Shiro calls for the waiter and they all gather their things to leave, tired from the meal.

Outside, the sun hasn’t yet set, the golden foliage of the trees glowing in the late date light, and the air carries the crisp smell of freshly fallen leaves that engulfs them the second the restaurant doors swing open. It’s cooler than usual, now that autumn reaches its end and the sharp bite of winter approaches, but Keith barely notices - barely cares. He just leans against the side of Shiro’s car, letting the laughter spill out of him as Pidge stuffs a handful of leaves down the back of their brother’s shirt, while the warm wave of emotions he can’t quite yet name unfurls within his chest.

* * *

**END NOTES**

Okay so I couldn't fit all the art in the end notes so it's here :))))))))

We got art!!!! (AND COSPLAYS???????) Make sure to go show the artists some love by reblogging their gorgeous work! (if anyone wants their art removed from the notes message wardenalistair and i'll pull them! :) )

  * [COOOOSSSPLAAYYYYYYYYY ](http://akrcos.tumblr.com/post/152176419674/time-to-wipe-the-rink-with-keiths-bad-ice-skating)
  * [i'm dying more cosplay](https://twitter.com/izo_cosplay/status/790064059408347136) [they stole someone's styrofoam cups to take this picture im dYING](https://twitter.com/Elspethers/status/790027895796273152) 
  * [i actually screamed about this one](https://twitter.com/Elspethers/status/790001558549299200) 
  * [THEY GOT A PIDGE TOO](https://twitter.com/Elspethers/status/790038724264529921) 
  * [Hockey Keith making everyone's hearts doki doki (by solluxcap2r)](http://solluxcap2r.tumblr.com/post/152146332031/here-have-a-hockey-player-keith-from-the-fic-on)
  * [adorable skating klance by midnight-in-space](http://midnight-in-space.tumblr.com/post/152112489848/instead-of-doing-inktober-i-draw-this-meaningless)
  * [saint-tibbles back at it with them damn skating boys](http://saint-tibbles.tumblr.com/post/152098292484/inktober-number-whatever-this-isis-one-of-my-fav%0A)
  * [seductive skating lance (eyebrow wiggle) by trenangelle](http://trenangelle.tumblr.com/post/151969463905/not-pictured-keith-doing-a-faceplant-trying-to%0A)
  * [another by the same folk but keith ;)](http://trenangelle.tumblr.com/post/151915549390/lance-im-so-gay-im-fucking-gay-i-mean-come%0A)
  * [fucking baked-mashed-potato wont stOP MAKING ANIMATIONS #1](http://baked-mashed-potato.tumblr.com/post/151946668269/another-gif-to-the-series-i-was-too-lazy-to%0A)
  * [#2](http://baked-mashed-potato.tumblr.com/post/150698446145/i-spent-way-too-long-on-this-im-crying-34-frames)
  * [#3](http://baked-mashed-potato.tumblr.com/post/150790089947/tbh-u-cant-have-a-skating-lance-without-a-skating)
  * [even more cute skating klance by stumblinginthestars](http://stumblinginthestars.tumblr.com/post/151939207686/so-this-story-is-my-life-now)
  * [EVERYONE IS SKATING by the ever fabulous gibslythe](http://gibslythe.tumblr.com/post/151886050244/on-thin-ice-by-wardenalistair-is-something-i)
  * [just assume all the art is skating klance (it brings me so much joy) crossmydna](http://crossmydna.tumblr.com/post/151861696111/i-desperately-need-these-two-to-skate-together-3)
  * [fucking MOVIE POSTER by thesearchingastronaut](http://thesearchingastronaut.tumblr.com/post/151806775867/this-was-so-much-fun-to-draw-fake-movie-poster)
  * [graceful lance by greenhousenurseart](http://greenhousenurseart.tumblr.com/post/151797837719/for-the-voltron-figure-skating-au)
  * [i was watching the stream for this one and died by elentori](http://elentori-art.tumblr.com/post/151768246837/subway-dancing-lance-and-accidental-stalker-keith)
  * [EVEN MORE by thesearchingastronaut](http://thesearchingastronaut.tumblr.com/post/151728102912/more-sketches-fic-on-thin-ice)
  * [rip keith honestly by moremuddled](http://moremuddled.tumblr.com/post/151688602551/illustration-from-this-voltron-fic-by)
  * [aka the one that killed me by thesearchingastronaut](http://thesearchingastronaut.tumblr.com/post/151679763282/i-really-wanted-to-draw-this-moment-from-on-thin)
  * [WHEN WILL THEY STOP by thesearchingastronaut](http://thesearchingastronaut.tumblr.com/post/151628214282/and-more-ice-skating-lance-fanart-for-the)
  * [i saw this one right after closing at work and literally screamed out loud. soottea has a video by thesearchingastronaut](http://thesearchingastronaut.tumblr.com/post/151532431767/fanart-of-the-fanfic-on-thin-ice)
  * [hoocckeeyy keeeiiiittthhhhh by leecchim](http://leecchim.tumblr.com/post/151452079241/im-pretty-much-obsessed-with-wardenalistairs)
  * [skating keith!! by azure-arts](http://azure-arts.tumblr.com/post/151444105860/he-pushed-open-the-doors-to-the-rink-skates)
  * [MORE HOCKEY KEITH and coffee keith by maireep](http://maireep.tumblr.com/post/151403500202/two-sides-of-one-keith-inspired-by-on-thin-ice-by)
  * [the most beautiful allura rip my gay heart by maireep](http://maireep.tumblr.com/post/151275139287/if-she-moves-like-this-on-the-pavement-keith-can)
  * [so much allura i will never recover by maireep](http://maireep.tumblr.com/post/151274702437/you-dont-have-to-be-into-girls-to-know-when)
  * [it's gay, guys by wolfpainters](http://wolfpainters.tumblr.com/post/151256460489/im-gonna-be-y-your-brace-okay-i-drew-out)
  * [my new beta reader obviously ;) by nonnydoodles](http://nonnydoodles.tumblr.com/post/150618874597/because-i-cant-read-anything-without-taking-it-at)
  * [keith is suffering and lance is great by trenangelle](http://trenangelle.tumblr.com/post/150880978065/so-i-started-reading-on-thin-ice-by-minadora-on)
  * [LANGST by bakudanuko](http://bakudanuko.tumblr.com/post/150754103505/um-im-back-and-recently-ive-been-voltroned-into)
  * [smug lance is smug >:) by wolfpainters](http://wolfpainters.tumblr.com/post/150365683584/are-you-sure-youve-ever-even-been-on-ice)
  * [the original fanart that literally had me sobbing in bed (there's also a video of that) ft. tia by saint-tibbles](http://saint-tibbles.tumblr.com/post/150149679109/oh-my-gosh-tia-stops-hopping-suddenly-eyes)




	7. The Hockey to his Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'sup y'all long time no see!  
> November is my business' most intense month so I've been SUPER busy as of late and couldn't write as much
> 
> anyways get this chapter away from me i want to stop looking at it
> 
> Enjoy, folks! And as always you can find us on tumblr/twitter  
> Author & co-creator: tumblr user wardenalistair and twitter user minadoraa  
> Artist & co-creator: tumblr user soottea and twitter user sootttea
> 
> The long awaited hockey game begins!

With finals literally days away, their coach was going all out during practices. Their last one was a practice game of sorts with today focusing on segregated tasks for their respective positions. All of the defensemen working on their drills while Keith and the rest of the forwards take over the other half of the rink for their own. Their usual goalie, a stoic giant of a man nicknamed Barney, was on the receiving end of Keith's slap shots so he could get the most practice - and practice he was getting. A few times Keith was brought over to play against the defensemen to keep them on their toes but, for the most part, he was running through play after play with his offensive teammates. 

"Alright, Kiddos!"

He had just finished a particularly gruelling one on one play when the sharp whistle squeal and his coach's shouting catches his attention. He and the rest of the team pull in around her, spitting out their mouth guards and yanking off their helmets as they approach. 

"So," she drops the whistle from between her teeth and sets her hands on her hips. "We're down to the last 100 feet of the metaphorical marathon of Provincials and, currently, you're all in good shape. But -- so are our opponents." She reaches for the clipboard tucked in her armpit and flips over the top page, reading from it. "The Robeasts have been in their best shape all season long, winning most games with a two to three point lead." She drops the page back down and looks up at them. "They are no mystery to us, though. We've played against them many times so you should all be well aware of their playing style by now." 

Keith was. After so many years of rivalry, he could rhyme off all of their regular players and their habits on the ice. They all shared one similar trait, though: they played rough. Their captain, in particular, was always picking fights and slamming his teammates around the rink - a few times to the point of injury. 

Lucky for the Red Lions, their captain also played rough and he didn't take too kindly to being shoved around.

"Obviously, I'll have more to say the day of, but for now now, I'll just say:" There's a brief moment where Keith wonders if she'll flash them a supportive smile like he's seen Allura and Shiro do a million times, their bodies radiating warmth and encouragement. But then she's continuing on, brows pulled into that same stern look she always wears. "- stick to your guns and remember your drills. They aren't anything we haven't seen a hundred times before." 

The crowd of sweaty, stone-faced players gathered around her all nod. Keith runs the back of his glove over his upper lip just as she meets his eyes. He, too, nods silently and she claps her hands against the clipboard once.

"Alright then - go shower. I'll see you at finals."

* * *

 

Keith doesn't usually get nervous for games.

There's always a brief period of anxiety right before he steps onto the ice, but it's nothing his usual pump up music can't do away with.

And yet, before the recital that meant next to nothing in regards to his future - he was absolutely terrified. He wasn't used to it - the nervousness or the panicking - and hadn't known what to do. It was suffocating.

But - 

afterwards.

 _Fuck_ , did he feel great. 

Unapologetic pride had followed him for days after the recital and, although it was a little strange, he had loved every second of the foreign post-skate euphoria. It wasn't just from within himself either; he could feel it pouring off of everyone else, too. Pidge had nearly tackled him when the routine was over, surprising him with their strength. His brother, after they had left the arena, had stared at him so fondly it hurt his heart and reminded him of their youth. Even Lance looked... well - he looked  _something_. 

Keith is reminded then of the brief window in time when the air around the both of them had stilled and he had thought, for one fleeting second, that he wasn't imagining the flush on Lance's throat. He had contemplated doing something other than staring - but with the moment as paper thin as the sheer confetti around them, he worried he'd break it. 

But the pride, the  _caring_ in Lance's expression just inches from him stuck with Keith just as stubbornly as his euphoria. During practice, on the long subway rides home, late into the evening while he lay awake and his mind flitted through those fragile seconds they shared over and over again until he seared it into his memory. Or at least he hoped he did. 

Any hope of Keith  _not_ being royally screwed (if there ever was any) has completely vanished, drifting into nothing but a whisper he can barely recall hearing. He won't say he's accepted it but -- he's acknowledged it at least. 

 

In all honesty, he was pretty screwed when it came to any of them. 

Just two months he's known them and yet they've already seemingly adopted Keith into their team. It's been years that Keith has played with some of his  _real_ teammates and, while he doesn't dislike them, he doesn't know if he'd call them his friends. Which is something Shiro's team wouldn't think twice about doing. 

It's thrown Keith for a loop - their sudden acceptance. But he certainly isn't against it.

However.

All of this: his immense pride in himself, coming to care for the team and them coming to care for him. It's turning sour with the nagging reminder that lessons are over. He fulfilled his obligation. The tadpole lessons are over and he's a free man. Six weeks ago he was wishing this day would hurry up and arrive so he could escape from the obnoxious lessons he was forced into. But now that it's here... he's not so sure he wants it to be over. 

For a long time, he always thought Shiro left hockey for a girl (although he's still not entirely convinced that's untrue), but, for the first time since that day, he's starting to consider that there might have been more to Shiro's decision to leave. 

Because there certainly is more to Keith. 

 

Lying face first on his couch, he turns his head to peer over at his phone on the coffee table. His mother was still hounding him with incredibly awkward, yet supportive, texts - reminding him of how proud she is of him. Other than that, though, his phone sits in relative silence. 

He's been trying to think up a reason to visit the arena now that the lessons are over but he keeps coming up blank. He contemplated using the same "I forgot to return my skates" excuse but something tells him he wouldn't be able to live it down.  _In theory_ , he could just visit them - Shiro has told him as much - but he felt strange just showing up randomly without any guarantee that they'd be there. Finals weren't for a few more days and he could only spend so much time in his cramped apartment with his noisy neighbours as his only company. 

Two months ago, he would have loved the free time. But he's gotten used to the regular rink visits. His social life had been pretty empty prior to the lessons (which he's sure is partly  _why_ Shiro dragged him there) and, in all honesty, he's enjoyed his new, somewhat socially involved life. Now, all alone - he's bored. 

He stares at his silent phone for a few more seconds before reaching for it, sighing, and flipping on his back as he pulls open his messages. 

* * *

 

"Keith?" Hunk stops the zamboni partway through a lap and leans against the wheel to peer at Keith from his place at the edge of the rink. "I didn't expect to see you so soon. You miss us that much?"

Keith just rolls his eyes, ignoring the mild truth behind that statement. "Us?" He scans the otherwise empty rink. "I only see a 'you' here." 

"They're all getting changed while I haul this old girl over the ice again." He thumps the side of the frighteningly large machine twice. 

"Ah," Keith nods in understanding. "I guess I missed practice, then. Pidge told me it wasn't supposed to end for another hour or so."

Hunk's eyebrows raise as he pieces the information together. "Oh so  _you're_ who they were texting the whole time!" 

"Yeah - I... didn't know your guys' schedule and I didn't want to just -- show up." Keith rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment. "But, I guess I got here too late so..." 

Hunk waves away the end of Keith's sentence and interrupts him. "No, no - I'm almost done here anyways. I've got one more lap left just give me a few, okay?"

"Uh, Keith tugs his coat zipper down a few inches and flattens out the collar. "Okay."

 

Hunk reappears a from the garage-like room he drove the zamboni into, a backpack hooked over one shoulder, and slides across the ice until he reaches the boards to haul himself over. Keith moves to meet him as Hunk hops a few rows of seats towards the nearest aisle. 

"Y'know," Keith raises a brow as Hunk straightens up to look at him. "There  _is_ an easier way to do that."

"Yeah, but it's not as fun." He nudges Keith jokingly and starts up the aisle with Keith falling in beside him. "So, what's up?"

Keith just shrugs, catching the door as Hunk exits ahead of him. "I just - wanted to visit I guess." 

Any bubbles of confidence building inside him burst in the seconds that pass between his response and Hunk's next words, and all his thoughts turn paranoid. Keith's mind immediately jumps to the worst possible outcomes. Maybe he misread everyone's behaviour and they don't  _actually_ want him around outside of practice? What if they all had plans that didn't involve him? Did he just insert himself into a scenario in which he didn't belong?

But Hunk just digs his phone out of his back pocket and swipes the screen with his thumb. "Oh, okay!" His eyes scan something on the screen before he looks back up at Keith. "Well, once the others are done we're all headed out for lunch if you want to join us?"

Keith blinks at him, staring dumbly while Hunk looks on, waiting.  _Well, shit._

"Um..." Keith can't help the smile that grows across lips - although he does fight it some. "Sure." He loses the battle and it appears, fully formed and bright. "I'd like that."

"Great! The rest of the team should be -"

"Keith!" A large tuft of wild hair peeks out from around Hunk as Pidge slowly draws closer to them. Lance, in step beside them, raises a single brow in both surprise and greeting - one hand in his pocket the other gripping his gym bag. 

"Hey," Keith manages awkwardly as he holds a hand up in a small wave. 

Pidge hops in beside him with an easy smile, pushing at their glasses as they start. "Sorry practice ended early, by the way. I thought you'd have enough time to catch the end of it but I was wrong. My bad." 

Keith shakes his head. "It's fine, don't worry. Did someone else need the ice or something?"

"Uh-" There's a pause in Pidge's response and uncertainty flashed across their expression. They look up to Lance as if for permission to continue.

Lance just shrugs as he pulls a pastel pink scarf from his bag and begins winding it around his neck. "My knee was starting to ache a bit so we ended early to take the strain off of it. I didn't want to push it." 

"You didn't want to push it?" Hunk scoffs at him and Lance frowns. "More like Shiro forcibly kicked your ass off the ice the second you so much as winced." 

Lance rolls his eyes but Keith tries to pull the conversation back a few steps. "Your knee?"

Lance hums in agreement and, almost shyly, meets Keith's gaze - something painfully out of character for him. "I have a bad knee. It's not a big deal." 

"But... It was hurting?" 

Lance does up the top few buttons of his jacket, the same fitted black one he wore at the recital as he talks. "It's been getting colder lately which always makes it act up." Keith must still seem unconvinced because Lance just sighs and looks at Keith more directly, his eyes soft despite the firmness in his voice. "I'm fine, Keith. Really." 

Keith maintains the eye contact for a few seconds more, until Pidge throws themself dramatically against Hunk's arm. "Hunk  _please_ \- can we go eat now?" They practically claw at his jacket sleeve, a puffy golden yellow canvas type material. "I'm  _starving_." 

Hunk gently pries their hands away and pats them once on the head with a sigh. "Alright, alright. Let's go." 

Pidge cheers loudly, arms thrown up above them, and takes off through the lobby towards the arena doors. Hunk shakes his head and laughs but follows nevertheless while Keith and Lance take up the rear. A blast of cold wind smacks Keith straight in the face, drawing a sharp hiss of breath from him as he ducks his mouth behind the neck of his coat. Pidge leads them away from the arena doors and through the parking lot, a skip in their step. 

"So, uh-" Keith raises his voice to be heard above the wind swirling around them. "Where are we going anyways?"

Hunk turns his head slightly to catch his eye. "There's a burger place down the street that serves some pretty decent grub. Nothing fancy but it does the trick."

"At this point I'd eat literally garbage it it was put in front of me." Pidge stuffs their hands deep in their coat pockets as they turn onto the nearby sidewalk. 

"Easy now, Pidge." Hunk scolds. "We'll be there in ten minutes tops so just hold on tight."

Pidge continues to whine ahead of them but the sound quickly melts into soft chatter while Keith and Lance fall a few feet behind the other pair, only the view of their backs guiding Keith along the suburbia. They almost disappear entirely, though, when Lance leans into Keith's line of sight, smirking as he nudges Keith jokingly. 

"So how's the Froggy lifestyle treating you?" He teases. 

Deadpan, Keith stares at him and answers in monotone. "The pond's pretty cold and the flies are dry." 

There are a few seconds of stunned silence before Lance continues, staring in mock disbelief. "Wait a minute, did you just make a joke?"

"Oh, shut up." Keith rolls his eyes and shoves Lance back. 

Lance continues on in bewilderment, his voice lilting playfully. " _Keith_? McMullet Seriousface? Made a  _joke_?" He leans in once more with eyes wide. "I don't believe this." 

"McMullet Seriousface?" Keith repeats. "Really?" 

"Are you saying that you're  _not_ serious and that you  _don't_ have a mullet?" Lance punctuates his point with his signature raised brow but Keith remains silent, jaw set as he turns his face away from Lance's growing smirk. "That's what I thought." He laughs quietly and bumps his shoulder against Keith's as they continue on down the sidewalk. "Really, though. How are you enjoying your life post-tadpole lessons?"

"Well, I'm definitely enjoying not having you bossing me around all day long." He pokes. "And it's nice not having to worry over the recital anymore either."

Lance ignores Keith's dig, turning ahead once more. "I don't know  _why_ you were so worried - you had no reason to be."

"Ah -" Keith is genuinely surprised by that one - not expecting such casual praise from Lance. He stares pointedly at the ground. "Thanks, Lance."

"Well, with a teacher like me, what else do you exp-" His words are interrupted by a loud thwack as Keith's hand finds his arm. But Lance only chuckles to himself, holding up a hand in an attempt to dissuade Keith's reaction. "Really, though, you should have seen Shiro's face. He looked like the rest of the blubbering parents looking on from the stands. It was a little ridiculous, honestly." 

Keith snorts unattractively, not really believing that. "I find that hard to believe."

"Speaking of blubbering parents," Lance continues without really remarking on Keith's comment. "Did you talk to your Mom afterwards?"

"After the recital?" Lance nods in response and Keith sighs heavily. "Yeah. She was calling nonstop while we were out for pizza. I finally called her back when I got home." 

Lance laughs and tucks his nose behind his scarf, bright red from the cold. "Well, at least she seemed excited by it." 

"Are you kidding?" Keith scoffs. "She's _ecstatic_. My Parents don't often make it to my games or Shiro's competitions so they jump on even the smallest bit information they're given."  

"Hmm," Lance hums thoughtfully to himself. "You know, I don't actually.... _know_ a lot about your parents."

Keith frowns at the ground, the toe of his boot catches on a pebble as they walk, sending it skirting onto the grass beside them. "Shiro never talked about them?"

"Not much," Lance admits with a shake of his head. "What are they like?"

Keith just shrugs, still staring down. "They're normal parents - what else is there to know?" That's not entirely untrue; they're your average parents despite Keith's 'unconventional' family structure and origins so there isn't really that much more to say about them. He's a little shocked that Shiro hasn't gone on about them (especially considering how much of a mama's boy Shiro is) but the pointed silence from Lance beside him draws his attention away from his thoughts. He pulls his eyes off the slowly passing sidewalk under his feet to Lance's face. 

If he thought Shiro's lack of sharing was shocking, he's not sure what would describe his reaction to the look on Lance's face. Soft and fond - Lance peers across to him as they walk. There's a brief moment where Keith has to wonder if it really is directed at him, but then Keith nods encouragingly to him. 

"Tell me about them." 

Keith's surprised he doesn't trip face first onto the pavement alongside the trip in his heartbeat, honestly. He focuses on placing one foot in front of the other as he looks ahead of him once more and ducks his nose behind his collar - this time for reasons unrelated to the cold. "Um... sure. I guess.." Keith feels Lance's gaze on the side of his face despite his best attempts to ignore it. "What, uh - where do I start?"

"How about your mom?" Lance starts. "What's she like?"

"My mom..." Keith can't help the snicker that escapes him as he's reminded of his mother's excited babbling over the phone. "My mother is terrifying."

"Terrifying? She didn't seem that bad." 

"Don't underestimate her." Keith warns him. "She may seem chirpy over the phone but she won't hesitate to kick your ass if she has to. Everyone at school thought so little of her, especially my teachers when they'd see this tiny Moroccan lady skip into the classroom during parent-teacher interviews. But the second someone messed with me or Shiro during class, everyone would panic when she'd come storming in. She's a handful, that's for sure."

"Ah, so it's hereditary, then." Lance bumps into him teasing, winking when Keith blinks towards him. 

Keith just shoots him an unimpressed look before continuing on. "I'm serious - she weighs 100 pounds max and has the skinniest arms I've ever seen but she could hand us  _both_ our asses if pushed." He hooks another pebble under his boot and kicks it ahead of him, playing soccer with it as they walk. "Not that she ever would though. She's outrageously chirping and literally never stops talking. Half the time, I can just put the phone on the table, leave for ten minutes to make dinner, then return to find her still talking as if I never left. I don't think she notices, to be honest." 

"Son of the year, Keith Kogane."

"Oh come on," Keith rolls his eyes. "I wouldn't have gotten a word in anyways."

"It's a bit strange, though. Neither you nor Shiro are like that. Not at all." Lance frowns. 

Keith just shrugs. He's wondered the same thing before but then again they aren't related by blood. Nature versus nurture in action. "I think because we did so little talking in the house, we never had the chance to pick up that trait."

"That's fair." Lance laughs softly as Keith sneaks a glance at him, catching his eye briefly before continuing on with a smile. "And your dad?"

"My dad," Keith sighs loudly. "My dad is the visual polar opposite of my mom: tall like Shiro, light skinned, and about three metres wide. Unfortunately for us, they are very similar in terms of personality. If there's one way he's different than her, it's that my dad has _infinitely_ worse humour than my mom. He, of course, thinks he's genuinely hilarious." Keith thinks for a second, trying to compare his parents' traits as he has many times before. "I mean, he's not as chatty as she is but he's  _just_ as much of a dork and just as easily worked up. There isn't much they differ on."

Lance raises an eyebrow in question. "Easily worked up?"

"Mhm. Like my mom and the recital." He reminds him. "I remember during mine and Shiro's first competitive game together, they threw this huge pre-game party for us and the rest of the team. There were hockey themed decorations plastered across the house, my dad slaved over a hockey rink cake, and they even hunted down some hockey playlists to play in the background. They composed original cheers for the actual game, too. They have no chill whatsoever." 

"Oh my  _god_ ," Keith hears barely contained giggles behind Lance's voice and he turns on him.

"See it  _sounds_ funny but when it's  _your_ parents at  _your_ game, you start to wonder how hard you'd have to hit your head on the ice to be knocked out." 

"Holy shit," Lance tries to hides his smirk in his scarf but Keith catches it and glares at him with narrowed eyes. "They sound  _awesome_. I need to meet them now."

Keith shakes his head at the thought of that actually happening - he doesn't even want to imagine it, honestly. "You  _really_ don't."

"I'm serious, Keith." Lance looks towards him, eyes crinkling at the corners. "They're hilarious. I haven't even met them and I like them."

"They... certainly could be worse." Keith admits with a shrug.

Lance then hops in front of him to look at him more directly and Keith has reach out to keep him from tripping on a raised block in the sidewalk as he walks backwards ahead of him. He seems unperturbed, though, continuing on with whatever jumped into his head. "Okay next: blackmail material." 

"Blackmail?" Keith frowns, not understanding.

"Keith  _come on!_ " Lance throws his hands up above him dramatically. "You have  _years_ worth of embarrassing Shiro stories! Give me  _something_ here!"

Pidge looks over their shoulder, ears perking up at the sound of embarrassment. _Do they have a radar for this sort of thing?_ "Did I just hear something about Shiro blackmail?"

"Yes and Keith is holding back on us," Lance has to be guided around a turn as Hunk leads them down a strip mall, Pidge's hand clamped on the back of his jacket to drag him along. 

"Keith," Pidge's eyes are practically sparkling with anticipation as they plead.

Keith hums to himself, thinking. "I mean, there  _are_ a few good stories I could tell..." 

Lance gasps slowly, his eyes wide, and stops in his tracks to clamp his hands onto Keith's shoulders. He doesn't even say anything - just stares excitedly with his mouth agape. Pidge pops in beside Lance and stands up on their toes to rest their chin on his shoulder, joining in on the staring. Keith can't help the bubbly laugh that escapes as Lance squeezes just a bit tighter and even shakes him lightly. Hunk seems to notice that he's lost three quarters of his group, stopping a few feet ahead of them with a tired sigh. 

"Guys, whatever you're about to start here, can it wait until we're  _inside_?" He gestures to a storefront down the sidewalk. "I thought you were hungry, Pidge."

They don't tear their squinted eyes off of Keith as they talk. "I am, but I will never turn down the opportunity to expand my blackmail repertoire on you guys." 

"Wait," Lance turns towards them, face pulled into a frown. He hardly seems to care how little space there is between his and Pidge's noses, just glares intensely. "'You guys'? Please don't tell me you have blackmail against me too."

Slowly, their lips pull into an almost evil grin and Keith is reminded why he shouldn't mess with Pidge. "So much." 

Lance stares on dumbfounded, on the verge of saying something but Hunk interrupts whatever thoughts might be brewing in his mind with a loud clap of his hands.

" _Guys_. Inside. Food. Please."

Lance's hands drag off of Keith's shoulders as he turns and Pidge sinks back onto flat feet. He groans dramatically, head thrown back, and follows in the direction Hunk gestures. Pidge lets their gaze remain on Keith for a few seconds longer, eyes intent.

"Okay, okay." Keith holds up his hands in defeat. "There's one story that I know will work as perfect ammunition against him."

Pidge pumps their fist into the air, whooping loudly, and looping their arm through Keith's to drag him towards the dinner entrance. "Tell us, tell us, tell us!"

Keith only laughs and lets himself be pulled along to where Hunk holds open the door, shooting Keith a sympathetic (albeit somewhat curious) smile when he passes. 

"So, when Shiro was in high school -" Keith starts. Ahead of him, Lance looks over his shoulder and raises one brow in interest. "- he had this one girlfriend." 

* * *

 It took a few stories from Keith to satiate their desires - which essentially took up the entirety of the meal. Although they never took out a piece of paper and pen, but Keith could see Pidge mentally taking notes of every detail that could be even remotely useful to them. It takes a while, but eventually the conversation eases onto other topics. 

Hunk chews around his mouthful of fries, jabbing one in Keith's direction as he talks. "So - about Provincials."

"What about it?" Keith punctuates his sentence with a large bite of hamburger. 

"How does it  _work?_ " Hunk starts after he swallows his food. "I don't think hockey competitions work quite like figure skating competitions so we're all pretty much in the dark on the upcoming game." 

Lance, who finished eating nearly as quickly as Pidge did, leans forward onto his elbows. "Honestly  _all_ of hockey is a mystery to me. Any explanation on this sport would be helpful." 

"Well, uh," Keith swallows the last bit of his meal and wipes his mouth on his sleeve. "It's not really that complicated, honestly." He lays out a napkin and snags a purple crayon off the table (probably intended for a child but it will do) to start sketching out a basic diagram. "Every team makes their way through a round robin series, playing game after game against each other until we're down to four teams. Then, we split into two semifinal games. The losers play each other to decide third and fourth place while the winners play for gold and silver."

"Hmm," Lance leans over the table to hover his nose over the napkin. "So you guys are... here?" He points toward the final gold-silver game branch. Keith nods. "Well shit." Lance leans back in his seat with a huff. "I knew this was big but I didn't realize this was for  _gold_." 

Pidge rolls their eyes. "I'm pretty sure Allura called it finals last week, dude. What else do you think that means?"

"Yeah but I didn't think it was  _finals_ finals." Pidge looks unimpressed and Lance throws his hands up. "How was I supposed to know? I don't know anything about hockey!"

They squabble for a few seconds longer before Hunk shakes his head and pulls Keith's attention over again. "Are you nervous at all?"

Keith shrugs. "Not really. I don't get nervous."

"Oh  _really_?" Lance pushes Pidge out of his face and smirks at Keith. "'Cause you looked pretty nervous at the recital."

"That -" Keith stares pointedly at him. "- was an anomaly."

"Sure." Lance squints harder, smile never fading, but Keith doesn't back down. It takes Hunk interrupting once more to get them to turn away from each other. 

He polishes off the end of his fries and continues on with the conversation. "I think I have enough nerves for everyone, so it doesn't even matter."

"That's true." Keith looks towards Pidge as they talk and look exasperatedly towards Hunk. "We still have over a week until  _our_ competition and you've nearly puked during four of our rehearsals." 

"Don't act like you're not nervous too!"

Pidge holds up their hands in defence. "Oh, I'm not. Trust me. I'm just saying I'm not the one blowing chunks across the ice."

Hunk grimaces and covers his eyes with his hands, his skin turning slightly dull. "Please don't talk about vomiting when we've just eaten."

"Well," Lance shrugs. "It doesn't matter how nervous you guys are because you're going to wipe the ice with the competition." 

"We haven't even seen the roster yet dude." Hunk comments. "We have no idea who we're even competing against at this point. You can't make that claim."

Lance shakes his head. "Doesn't matter who they are - you guys will be handing them their asses in exchange for a gold medal."

Hunk smiles somewhat tentatively - preceded by a heavy smile, his nerves obviously not erased, but at least somewhat eased by his friend's faith. "Either way, our competition isn't happening yet. Right now we have Keith's game to focus on."

Keith looks to him, a little taken aback, with his eyebrows raised in surprise. "You guys don't actually have -"

"What colours are your jerseys?" Pidge leans around Lance to catch Keith's eye as the mischief brews in their own. 

Keith frowns as he responds, his words slow and hesitant. "Red, black, and white... Why?"

"I need to know which facepaint colours to buy that's why."

"Wait. You're actually doing that?" Lance stares at them with wide eyes.

They shrug in response. "Are you really surprised?"

Lance sighs, leaning back into his seat and closes his eyes. "You know what, I"m not. Not even a little bit."

Pidge chuckles quietly at Lance's dismay but turns their attention back to Keith shortly after. "Honestly, Keith, I'm so excited for your game. I watched some of last year's playoffs as preparation for it."

"And Shiro said he's digging up his old jersey for the game." Hunk adds with a raised fingers and a smile. 

"Oh god," Keith runs a hand down his face. "Coach is going to chew him out if she sees him with it on." Lance quirks an eyebrow in response so Keith clarifies. "She's still not... the most thrilled that he left the team. The jersey might be rubbing salt in her wound." 

"Nope!" Pidge holds their hands to their ears and shakes their head. "None of that negativity anymore! I will remain excited to watch a bunch of angry guys fight over a black chunk of rubber and none of you can ruin it for me!"

Hunk pats them twice on the head, pulling their hands down before he drapes an arm over the back of their seat. "No we won't." He gestures to the waiter for the bill, polite smile waiting to greet them. "Now get your wallets ready because I am  _so_ not paying for your meals." 

The other two complain loudly, Pidge throwing themself dramatically across the length of the booth and Lance doing the same so that they're a collective pile of childish behaviour. They cling to one another as they beg but their pleas fall on deaf ears, Hunk having already turned away. Keith fishes out his wallet from his pocket and tries to mask his laughter behind his hand. It only seems to draw attention to him as Lance is now begging  _him_ to pay - using his coaching in the tadpole lessons as leverage. The laughter is harder to conceal at this point, the gentle warmth building from it mixing with the sparks of excitement slowly building in his chest.

When was the last time he'd actually been this excited for a game?

 

He couldn't remember. 

 

 

* * *

 

"You do realize how late we are, right?" Lance stares down at the lit screen of his phone where the current time stares back at him. 

Hunk sighs loudly and turns off the main busy street of this unfamiliar neighbourhood in what Lance hopes is the right direction. "I am  _fully_ aware of how late we are. And I'm aware of how long it took you to get ready -" 

"How am I supposed to know what to wear to a hockey game?!"

Hunk ignores him and continues as if he said nothing. " - I'm  _also_ aware of all the wrong directions you gave me to get here."

"Okay well," Lance rubs the back of his neck and ducks his head. "I blame Siri for that one." 

"Right. Blame the A.I." Hunk rolls his eyes and leans forward over the wheel to catch sight of the quickly passing signs. "Just -- help me find the right street. I've never been this far east and everything looks the same to me." 

Lance presses his nose to the passenger window to join in on the search. "Keith said the finals were on home ice." He watches a blurry neon restaurant neon sign fly past them. "This doesn't exactly seem like 'home ice' to me."

"Shiro said it's the nearest rink with enough seating for everyone." Hunk seems to spot something then, and speeds them through a sharp turn. 

Lance scoffs. "How big of a space could they really need?" There's a pause of silence as Lance looks down at the time again and Hunk eases the car into a slow crawl through one more turn.

"A lot. Apparently." 

Lance returns his attention back up to the windshield and the brightly lit parking lot they have found themselves. The arena is definitely bigger than Lance has been expecting it to be. Although not unlike the rinks he has competed in many times, he's a little taken aback by its grandeur. He didn't have a good idea of what to expect from this game but now, as Hunk pulls into a parking spot and swings out of the car, everything starts to click into place. 

"Shit." Hunk presses his door shut, the hinges complaining the whole time, and begins heading towards the arena. 

Lance follows along behind him, in just as much awe as he is. "Right?"

"I guess these finals are a big deal..."

"A big deal that you two -" Lance turns towards Shiro's loud and somewhat annoyed voice a few feet down the sidewalk. He jabs his finger at them to punctuate his words, brow furrowed under the shadow of his red baseball cap. "- are  _very late_ for." 

"That would be Lance's fault." Hunk whacks him once on the back as they approach. 

"Correction," Lance holds up a finger. " _Siri's_ fault."

"I don't care whose fault it is, let's just get inside before the game starts." Shiro turns on his heel and heads off towards the arena, Hunk and Lance in tow. 

Inside, they're greeted by a thick wave of warm air and an even thicker wave of excited spectators. Thankfully, Shiro seems to know where he's going and leads the group of them through the wild maze of people to a set of heavy doors. He heaves them open and the view of the rink beyond sets the quiet brewing of his nerves at ease. Lit and pristine, it's a familiar sight that he can't help but take in as Shiro walks them down an aisle to the third row up from the ice. 

Shiro looks over his shoulder at them. "You're lucky our seats were pre-purchased because there's  _no way_ you'd have gotten these seats this close to the puck drop." 

"Well," Hunk notes. "I guess it pays to know the team's captain, huh?"

Shiro gestures down the row to where Lance spots a rather bright-eyed Allura and an even brighter eyed Pidge, the latter decked out in red, black, and white clothing as well as a similarly coloured lightning bolt painted on their face. They push their gray beanie back on their head so that the front tufts of hair pop out from underneath it as they smile up at him. 

Lance swings in next to them, first letting Shiro shuffle to the left side of Allura, and appraises them with a raise of his eyebrows. "Lightning? Really?"

They simply shrug, refusing to be bothered by Lance's comments. "I'm not skilled enough to paint myself up as a lion so this was the best both me  _and_ matt could do." 

"Incredible." Lance looks them up and down once more but is quickly distracted by the reveal of an old Red Lion jersey underneath Shiro's jacket. "Oh hey! You found it!"

Shiro fully sheds his coat and drapes it on the back of his seat, glancing down at the lioness insignia on his chest. "Oh yeah. It wasn't too hard to find actually." 

"After he tore apart his apartment, he means." Allura interjects with a grin. Shiro rolls his eyes at her but doesn't respond so she continues on, still facing Lance and Hunk now seated to his right. "So - are you two excited for the game?" 

" _Beyond_ excited." Hunk sheds his own coat and settles into his seat with a sigh. "As much as I love figure skating, there's something about hockey that gets my adrenaline going." 

Lance shrugs. "I have no idea what to expect honestly. I'm just interested in seeing if Keith is  _actually_  better on hockey skates like he claims he is." Shiro chuckles quietly, obviously amused by something Lance missed, and Lance looks over to him. "What?" 

"I just think you're going to be very surprised is all." He looks over to the rink, leaning back again and folding his arms over his chest. "Back when I was on the team, Keith could easily out-skate the entire team - especially when it came to speed. Now that most of the senior players have left, I don't even want to think about how he compares to his current team." 

Lance is skeptical, remembering how much Keith struggled with a single lap of the rink during his early lessons. Of course, this was his element but there couldn't be that much difference between the skating styles. "Don't you think you might be a little biased, Shiro?" 

"Just wait. You'll see soon enough." 

Lance follows his lead and looks out across the rink just in time to see a purple clad player step onto the ice and starting circle the left side of the ice. He is quickly followed by several more, each of them bigger than the last and just as intimidating. Lance has only ever seen a few clips of hockey on tv and he has to wonder it they seem huge because of their proximity or if they really as as monstrous as they appear. It isn't until a few of them zoom past Lance's side of that rink that he determines - yup. They're massive. One guy in particular, with a bold white 'C' on the front of his jersey, seems to loom above everyone with a never fading sneer on his lips.

The few handfuls of spectators in Robeast jerseys or colours cheer loudly, howling down to the now stretching players as they prep for the game. Although, their cheers are nothing compared to the all out roar that shakes the entire arena when the first red-jerseyed player steps onto the ice. Shiro is probably one of the loudest, hands cupped of his mouth as he cheers loud enough for the whole group of them. Lance claps along too, but he can feel the buzz of excitement slowly building in his gut. 

The energy here is very different than his competitions - even at a high level competition like nationals. The figure skating crowd is excited there, there's no denying that, but there is something qualitatively different between the two. This is intense. You can't help feeding off of the crowd's energy or get swept away by their enthusiasm. 

"Look! Look!" Pidge nearly flies to their feet as they point animatedly at the ice. "There's Keith!"

And, sure enough - there he is.

His face is somewhat obscured by his helmet and he seems infinitely more broad with all of that hockey gear packed onto him, but that is definitely him. Stick in hand, he steps onto the ice and follows along the edge of the boards to the right side's net with the bright, white 93 staring boldly at the crowd. He seems to say something to the mammoth-sized man that is their goalie but Lance is slightly too distracted to figure out what it is. 

A strange but familiar feeling began blossoming inside his chest the second Keith stepped onto the ice, a feeling he really isn't sure he wants to feel. It creeps up over his collarbones that flush warm and steals the breath from his throat, clamping tight. 

Whoa.

_Whoa._

Okay so Keith was attractive. Lance is neither blind nor oblivious. He got that. But fuck - he had yet to see him in anything but old, ratty sweaters and sweatpants. When he stayed at his place that one night, Keith hadn't changed clothes (which tells Lance a lot about his wardrobe as a whole) so he didn't even have anything to his 'public clothes' to. And it's not like this baggy jersey and shorts are anything spectacular but...

There's just - there's something about the extra width of his shoulders and the bulk of his arms and the broadness of his chest and the focused glint in his eyes and... Anyways there was something about him here that enhances his looks. 

_Well, fuck._

Pidge bumps against his shoulder and snaps him back into reality. "What's up, Lance?"

"What?" Lance (with a considerable amount of effort) turns to them and does his best to feign even the smallest hint of calm, evening out the pitches of his voice. 

"You know what I asked." Their expression barely changes as they stare him down, save for the slightest raise at the corner of their mouth. 

Lance rolls his eyes, as if they're being ridiculous, and turns back to the ice. "I'm watching  _the game_ , Pidge, that's what's up." 

"Mhm," they lean into their seat but never take their knowing eyes off of him. "Sure." 

Lance tries to ignore their staring, instead focusing on the activity down on the ice. At this point, everyone that should be on the rink seems to be there, as they've now positioned themselves at pinpoint spots around centre ice. There is some official talk between the refs and either team's captains, then between the captains themselves (although it was less talking and more vicious glaring) before the game starts. The actual start is a blur of movement in Lance's eyes, as Keith and the Monstrous Captain face off at centre ice, gazes locked on each other in an intensely hostile stare down. The puck quickly disappears from Lance's sight only to reappear seconds later as the Lions move it aggressively down the ice.

And 'aggressively' is not an exaggeration.

As Lance quickly discovers: there is  _a lot_ of violence in this sport. 

Offence, defence, goal keeping - it doesn't seem to matter who's doing what: they're either shoving someone or someone's shoving them. And they hardly care, either. The Robeasts took back the puck by slamming the Lion's #8 against the boards but then, seconds later, he's over it. On his feet and racing down the rink after the puck like they _weren't_ just assaulted. 

Skaters slamming into each other isn't unheard of in figure skating, either. Sometimes in warmups players run into each other if they aren't paying attention or during rehearsals if you're sharing the rink. But it hurts. The few times Lance has been hit, he had to take a minute or so to get some air back into his lungs and calm down. But  _here_ they barely even blink at it. 

Count Lance as both terrified  _and_ impressed. 

The Robeasts take their time passing the puck between them, three players hovering around the Lion's net as the puck dances from stick to stick. Keith, the blocky 93 on his back the only recognizable feature from this distance, moves in on one of them just as they launch the puck towards the net. The goalie - who takes up the majority of the net's width - snags the puck out of the air and holds his glove to his chest as the whistle tweets sharply. 

Lance watches Keith shove a player off of him and exchange some vicious glares before he squares up a few feet back from the new puck drop. 

"So," Pidge leans to look at Shiro as the ref gathers two players in front of her. "Do they face off every time the whistle blows?"

"Essentially," Shiro nods. "There are a few rules about  _where_ the face off happens but that's slightly more complicated."

Pidge accepts this information (although they do look eager for more of an explanation) but doesn't respond as their eyes are too fixated on the ice. 

The puck is pushed down to the Robeasts' end after the face off where Keith then picks it up and full on charges the net. He passes the Robeasts' captain without so much as a glance in his direction only to have him swings his stick toward Keith, snagging his elbow and throwing his shot off by a few feet. Shiro leaps up, yelling loudly as Keith seemingly does the same down on the ice, both of them outraged about something Lance isn't aware of. He looks on, confused, at the referee now pressing one hand to both Keith and the Monster Captain's shoulders to keep at least a bit of space between the two of them. 

Lance frowns as Shiro sits back, his face pulled into an angry frown. "What? What is it?"

"Slashing." Surprisingly, it's Allura who responds as Shiro adjusts the cap on his head to face backwards. "The Robeasts Captain swung at Keith with his stick."

"And that's... not allowed?" Lance asks unsurely. 

"It's actually worth a penalty." Shiro starts, having composed himself enough to respond now. "If the ref would  _pay attention_ for more than three seconds." 

Pidge, Lance and Hunk all share a look while Allura pats Shiro consolingly on the arm. He's surprisingly upset right now - something he doesn't usually do in their competitions - so it's quite bizarre to see him this way. Often times, he's the one preaching patience and calm when someone gets pissed off about scores or competition or something. Out of them all though, Hunk is the one to voice what they're all thinking.

"Uh, Shiro..." His voice trails, unnerved by his coach's sudden change in behaviour. "You seem a little... worked up..." 

That seems to snap Shiro's attention back to them and he rubs the back of his neck with an embarrassed smile. "Sorry - I tend to get a little too involved in the games. Both as a player and a spectator. I don't know why but there's something about the sport that always gets to me."

Allura rolls her eyes - she's obviously seen this enough to not even be fazed by it - and explains. "He's like this at every game I've seen - in person or on television. Just don't get between him and his stress snacks, and you should be fine." 

"Hey!" Shiro stares, offended, at her. "I'm  _not_ that bad." 

Allura deadpans. She is not convinced by his words. "Really? Should I remind you of what happened during last year's playoff finals?" 

Any trace of offence in Shiro's expression vanishes as he back-pedals out of the conversation before she can continue on with whatever blackmail she has on him. "No. That's fine. You don't have to - there's no need."

Allura laughs bright and turns away from him but Pidge doesn't seem ready to move on, staring at her with wide and greedy eyes. " _I_ want you to tell the story! What happened during playoffs?"

"Oh look!" Shiro points off towards the ice, completely ignoring Pidge's queries. "We've got a power play!"

Pidge glares at his sad excuse for a distraction, ready to rip into him, but Allura catches their eye with a quick wink and a mouthed  _I'll tell you later_. The promise of future gossip satiates their current curiosity and they turn back to the game at hand. 

The ref begins leading the Robeasts' captain across the ice, close to where they're seated, and gestures to a door in the boards. The captain, whose name Lance can now make out as Bokar, begrudgingly sits down inside a glass encased room directly to the left of Shiro. 

Lance watches Bokar swish his mouth with water from a nearby water bottle before spitting it down at his feet. "So he's out of the game now?"

Shiro is busy glaring at the steaming hockey player so Hunk jumps in instead. "Only for a few minutes. If I remember correctly, slashing is only a minor penalty so he shouldn't be off for long." 

"Hunk's right," Allura adds. "Minor penalties are only two minutes long. It's not much but it at least gives the Lions a bit of an advantage."

Lance raises his eyebrows in surprised while the teams gear up for the next face off. "Damn, Allura - you know your stuff." 

She shrugs and takes a sip of her soda. "Shiro may have left the hockey team but he didn't leave the sport entirely. I've seen many, many games over the years and sat through even more lectures on the sport's history. We've had many late nights going over the rules of the game."

"Oh  _really?_ " Pidge snickers more to themself than anyone else, which Allura seems to just ignore, turning to watch the Lions snag the puck and book it down the ice.

Lance looks away from the game for a few seconds to stare at Bokar in the penalty box. This close to Lance's seat, he seems even taller than before - possible taller than Hunk - and at least three times as wide as Lance. He's intimidating as shit and Lance has to wonder how Keith can manage to play against him without shitting himself. 

Bokar seems anxious having to just sit there and watch the game unfold without him, but that anxiety very quickly morphs into anger as the seconds tick by. Even from Lance's angle, he can tell Bokar is following a certain mulleted captain's every move across the ice. It's pretty unsettling, seeing the aggression so blatant in his expression, and makes Lance question what ever happened between the two captains to brew such animosity. 

Before Lance even realizes it, the penalty is over and Bokar is flying onto the ice without hesitation. He interrupts Keith, who was pushing the puck down the Robeasts' side of the rink, and checks him roughly into the boards. Keith's stick scatters a few feet ahead of him as the puck is picked up and rushed away. Keith shoves right back at Bokar, barely offering him a second glance as he continues on with the game, scooping up his stick as he goes. 

Lance's nerves seem to be riding a rollercoaster - one with very few drops and a heart-attack inducing amount of tense trips upward. He lets out a long and heavy sigh to try to relieve some of his anxiety. "Is hockey always like this?"

Shiro peers over at him and laughs lightly. "Yup. It doesn't help that the Red Lions and the Robeasts have a pretty antagonistic relationship."

"You're telling me," Lance runs a hand through his hair. "I definitely didn't expect to be this worked up tonight."

"Welcome," Shiro smiles brightly and holds out his arms out beside him to gesture at the entirety of the arena. "To the good old hockey game." 

* * *

The rest of the first period remains relatively uneventful - save for a few scuffles between players - and it ends with neither team scoring a single goal. 

Pidge, who was watching from the literal edge of their seat, flops backwards with a groan of annoyance. "One goal. All I want to see is  _one goal_."

"There, there." Hunk reaches around Lance to pat Pidge's shoulder sympathetically. "I'm sure you'll see one soon. Someone has to win, after all." 

"I know - they're just taking  _forever_ to do it." Pidge slumps low in their seat, shoulders pressed to their ears and arms folded over their chest. 

"Oh don't worry." Shiro chuckles at their dramatics. "Sometimes the first period is all about getting into a rhythm and figuring out the other team's strengths and weaknesses." He shrugs before continuing on with a knowing smile. "Besides, if I know Keith, he's probably boiling with rage right about now. I'm sure he's itching for a goal just as much as you are." 

The mention of Keith draws Lance's attention across the rink to where the teams are waiting with their respective coaches during the break between periods. Seated beside the rest of his team, Keith listens intently to an older, stern looking woman (who Lance assumes is his coach) emphatically ramble on about something. At some point since the period ended, he has discarded his helmet and gloves along with whatever shred of composure Lance had left. 

Much like during their lessons, Keith has pulled his hair back into a messy ponytail to keep it from his eyes. Although this time it's gathered lower at the nape of his neck and most of the short pieces have fallen loose around his face. A few strands cling to his temples as Lance notices the faintest gleam of sweat across his brow and hairline, shining under the harsh light of the arena. Keith leans down to grab something at his feet, producing a water bottle while his coach moves on to his teammates to his left. He swishes a mouthful around but that doesn't seem to be enough, as he proceeds to pop the lid off and pour the rest over his head. Lance's heart flies to his throat while Keith casually pushes the bangs from his face and the water slides down his face and neck. He tugs at his jersey collar, mopping at his face just as his teammate beside him leans in to say something and Keith lets out a small laugh in response. 

_Fuck._

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

Lance tries (he really does) to not openly gawk at Keith as he slips the elastic from his hair and rake a hand through it to shake out the extra moisture before retying it into a quick knot. Lance has seen Keith with disheveled hair in the past but he definitely hasn't seen him sweaty and out of breath with disheveled hair.

It's not good for his health. 

 

"Lance?"

He starts violently, being pulled from his inappropriate staring, and faces Keith's brother as squarely as he can manage after just being caught ogling him. There's a pause of silence while Lance waits to be questioned by his coach but then Shiro just raises his eyebrows as if expecting a response. This draws the attention of Allura, frowning in confusion at him, as well as the unfortunate attention of a smirking Pidge.

Lance looks between the three of them as a warm flush slowly creeps up his chest. "W-what?" 

"I said:" Shiro nods off towards the ice. "How do Keith's hockey skills compare to your expectations?" 

"Oh."

_Oh my god._

Shiro hadn't noticed him leering at his younger brother. Thank fucking god for that. He would live another day. 

(Although the glint in Pidge's eyes tells him otherwise). 

Lance clears his throat and tucks his gaze away, too scared something in his expression will give him away. "He's um - he's good."

Hunk scoffs loudly beside him, making Lance jump out of his skin. "Good? He's incredible! I had no idea he could skate like that!"

Hunk wasn't wrong. Keith was a whole other skater tonight - smooth, agile, refined,  _fast_. He looked like he belonged there on the ice. Lance wouldn't dare say it out loud, but Keith could probably out skate him. Easily. With a late start and a weight tied to his foot. 

_If only he would stick around long enough to transfer those skills to figure skating..._

"Just wait," Shiro starts as he slings an arm over the back of Allura's chair. "Keith only gets better after a goal. You haven't seen anything yet." 

* * *

 And Shiro was right. 

It isn't until partway through the second period that anyone scores. After many failed attempts by other team members, Keith almost seems to get annoyed and breaks off from the group with the puck, none of the Robeasts fast enough to react let alone stop him.

The few seconds it takes for Keith to cross the ice, people are nearly on their feet as they cheer, as if anticipating what is to come. Pidge and Hunk cup their hands around their mouths as they yell down at Keith. Shiro looks like he might fall over he's shouting so loudly and even Allura has joined in, her usually formal voice louder than all of theirs. 

Keith eases over to the right side of the net, body angled to force his momentum into the shot, and Lance inches forward in his seat in excitement. During the last few movements before he shoots, Keith suddenly ducks to the left, leaving the goalie stunned and giving him enough space to flick the puck up into the top left hand corner of the net. 

Lance is on his feet without even realizing it and the others aren't far behind him. The energy energy in the room immediately dissipates, replaced with something crackling and vibrant as Lance's voice disappears in the crowd's roar. Shiro pulls his cap from his head and waves it above him, his right arm thrown over Allura's shoulders as she wobbles to her feet to cheer.

Down on the ice, Keith has looped around the back of the net with his stick held above him as his teammates rush to meet him and a loud horn blares, signalling the goal. A few of them link their arms around him but most only manage a few rubs on his helmet before someone else takes their place. Keith stays close to the boards as he approaches centre ice and the rest of his team disperses to prepare for the face off. The crowd having calmed down slightly so when Shiro holds his fingers to his mouth, the sharp whistle carries out easily to Keith. 

With a arch of his brow, Keith turns towards the sound curiously. Shiro flashes him a thumbs up, all smiles and tangible pride, which Keith responds to with his own excited smile. Pidge calls out to him, too - something about kicking ass - and Keith's smile morphs into a soft chuckle that they more see than hear. He leans forward, stick resting on the ice as he bends at the waist and watches two players step up for the face off. Lance's attention is slowly shifting onto the now approaching referee but he only just catches Keith's gaze flutter over to him. There's a brief moment where Lance can't quite read him, eyes neutral as Keith takes him in without any sort of hint of emotion. Lance is a little uncomfortable, not sure what to make of his calculating staring, but then his expression softens and Lance swears the whole arena can hear the painful skip in his heartbeat. 

He's only ever seen a look like that a few times in his life (some of which he wishes he didn't remember). Even through the grid of Keith's helmet, Lance recognizes the tenderness in his gaze along with - something he doesn't quite know how to name. It oozes fondness and his chest aches from the unconcealed openness in Keith's expression that easily breaks through Lance's thinly veiled composure. 

He doesn't even manage some sort of reaction (save for the aggressive blush spreading across his nose) before the ref blows the whistle and Keith turns away from him. 

Lance, with a shaky breath, sits back in his seat, his back thumping against it. He tries to steady his heart rate and push away the flush of his cheeks but Pidge's amused faced slides in close to his. 

They don't say anything, just grin devilishly at him. It quickly grows unsettling. Lance frowns but looks away, unable to maintain eye contact. "What?"

"I saw that." Their smile grows.

Lance turns his face away from them but their teasing smile follows. "Saw what?"

" _That._ "

"I -" Lance ignores the nervous flutter in his chest and clears his throat. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Hey now," they drawl. "You said it yourself: I know everything."

Once again, Lance doesn't have enough time to think up a response when the same loud horn sounds off. He expects the crowd to break into cheers again, but this time it's significantly less enthusiastic. Lance turns back to the ice as the Robeasts gather together, faces lit up and sticks raised above them with Bokar at the centre of them. 

"That fast?" Hunk presses his hand to his face. "We  _just_ scored!"

Shiro groans while the Robeasts begin to take their places at centre ice once more. "Sometimes that's all it takes to get the other team's butts in gear."

"Don't you worry," Allura chimes in, patting Shiro's knee twice with a reassuring smile. "You know that Keith doesn't give up that easily."

Lance knows this, as well, and it's only further reinforced by the deep set frown framing the searing burn in Keith's eyes. He steps up for the face off, glaring at the Robeasts player that waits in front of him. Despite the solid foot of height between the two of them, Keith's fury seems to shake the massive player - something Lance doesn't blame him for.

Keith wins the face off and immediately takes off after his teammates, glare never waning in intensity. Lance darts his eyes up to the ticking clock: only a few minutes left of the second period. Keith fumbles with the puck, trying to avoid one of the other team's defensemen, and it's snagged by Bokar in the blink of an eye. The whole row of them groan while they watch him pass the puck to a teammate further down the ice and Keith races after them. The Lions' terrifying goalie's eyes hone in on the approaching Robeasts forward, but not fast enough to stop the puck as it just barely slips past his shin guards.

The blaring of the horn now seems to mock them, the cheers of the few Robeasts fans even louder than they were before.

"You're kidding me," Lance mumbles into his hands.

"Okay," Pidge sighs. "I know I said I wanted to see a goal but I didn't mean like this." 

Shiro leans forward onto his knees, eyes glued to the Robeasts' captain. "There's no denying Bokar's skill as a player; he went all out while they were still thrown off by that last goal. It's a smart move and I can't deny that I've done the same many times." 

Allura hums thoughtfully. "He seems rather ruthless, if you ask me."

"That certainly is one way to describe him," Shiro, too, looks up at the clock above the ice. "There's still one more period left - this isn't over yet." 

* * *

And it wasn't.

After what looked like a pretty aggressive lecture from their coach, The Red Lions spilled out onto the ice for the third period, faces set into determined expressions. They played with a terrifying vigor, shutting down every attempt at a break away or goal that the Robeasts make. Lance didn't miss the look of victory on Keith's face when one particularly rough shove knocked the puck from Bokar's possession to one of the Lions' forwards. And Lance certainly wasn't the only one to notice the flare of anger in Bokar's posture, the squaring of his shoulders and the death grip he had on his stick. It doesn't take a hockey expert to see something building between the two captains.

Now, more than halfway through the period, that something grows stronger by the second. With every shrill cry from the ref's whistle, they seem to become more and more on edge - especially after penalty calls. 

"You know, I'm surprised." Shiro says after an icing call.

Pidge looks across to him, Lance and Hunk doing the same from around the shorter person's shoulder. "Surprised?"

Shiro nods. "Keith hasn't started a single fight all game or even received a penalty. It's unlike him to pay this cleanly."

"Perhaps the lessons really did help calm his temper?" Allura offers optimistically.

Shiro doesn't seem convinced by this theory, but nevertheless he sighs. "Perhaps..."

The next face off goes to the Red Lions, the puck getting knocked over to a brutish looking #15 who takes off down the right side of the rink. Keith follows along the left hand side with his eyes on the puck, intense and focused. The player ducks around a Robeast stationed by the net just as he spots Keith across from him. Lance watches the back of Bokar's jersey as he closes in on Keith, arms pumped to gain speed and catch up to the captain. #15 passes the puck with a flick of his wrist and, in a flurry of movement, Keith lobs it past the goalie.

There's only, however, a short second of celebration in Keith's face, which is quickly snuffed when Bokar's shoulder collides with his chest and sends Keith toppling over the net. 

A sharp gasp is pulled from Lance's throat when Keith is thrown airborne. Shiro leaps to his feet, already calling something out, but it's lost to screaming of the crowd, having not yet noticed anything besides the goal. Keith lands with a loud thud, his knee hooking onto the top of the net and pulling it down with him. Bokar immediately moves away and hangs close to the boards near Lance in the other with his hands up to dissuade any blame. 

Referees and Keith's teammates all jump into action at once and, for a moment, Lance's heart clenches in fear at Keith's barely moving figure, but then he's pulling himself to his feet. He throws his now broken stick to the ice, shoves at the net partly laid across him, ignores the people crowding around him, and fixed his gaze onto Bokar ahead of him. He yanks his helmet off to expose the snarl on his lips and is met with a taunting grin from his target. That seems to be the final straw for whatever remnants of self-control Keith has left as he closes the last few feet between them. He tears off his gloves, violently throwing them down the ice, and swings his right arm hard to connect. 

"Ahh," Shiro sighs as he runs a hand down his face. "There he goes." 

Keith's first punch lands cleanly against Bokar's jaw, his head snapping to the side from the force and nearly throwing him off his feet. Bokar responds in earnest and grabs Keith by the collar to hold him in place with one hand while he wails on him with the other. The crowd, now caught up with the events, is too loud for Lance to hear the crack of Keith's barely-healed nose under one of Bokar's blows, but he definitely sees the spurt of blood drip over his still snarling lips. Lance had been somewhat stunned ever since the goal but that manages to pull a reaction out of him and leads him to his feet. 

He turns to Shiro and raises his voice to be heard. "Aren't they going to stop them?"

"Eventually," Shiro seems more exhausted than worried by the current situation. 

"Why are they letting them fight at all?" Although Lance isn't entirely  _complaining_ about it... He's trying not to focus too much on his raised pulse, blaming it on the adrenaline from the fight instead of how roughly Keith pins Bokar to the boards. 

Shiro stares at Keith, only a few feet from them now, as the younger boy hisses profanities at his monstrous opponent. "Most refs just let them get it out of their systems. They usually stop them when they've calmed down or when one of them cross the line." 

In between Shiro and Lance, Pidge whoops and cheers Keith on, oblivious to anything else happening around them. Hunk seems pretty enthusiastic, as well, although the slightest trace of concern sneaks into his expression. 

Lance frowns over at Shiro past Pidge's excitement. "The line? What's the line?"

With a loud crack, Keith lifts Bokar from the boards and shifts his weight to slam him hard on the ice. He swings a leg over him, knees resting on either side of his waist, and repeatedly punches him square in the face. 

"That." Shiro sighs heavily under the shrill screech of the ref's whistle. "That -- would be the line."

The refs, who had been keeping the rest of the players at bay, jump forward - one of them hooking their arms around Keith's chest and hauling him backwards. Bokar leaps up to follow but is promptly pulled aside by the remaining two refs. He shouts some pretty terrifying threats (which Keith doesn't hesitate to reciprocate) before they're too far enough apart for their yelling to be audible. Keith presses a hand to his face and looks down at the blood on his fingers, only seeming mildly annoyed by it as he's waved into the penalty box beside Shiro. Bokar is slowly brought to an adjacent box with his own scowl set into his features. 

Pidge's face drops into a pout as they watch all of this unfold, disbelieving of what's happening. "A penalty?"

"There are plenty of downsides to being the team's fighter," Shiro shrugs as he sits back down, the crowd calming around him as well. "Fighting receives an automatic five minute penalty."

Lance leans forward on his knees to watch Shiro rap his knuckles against the glass beside him, catching Keith's attention. 

"Was that really a good idea?" He raises his voice to be heard through the pane of glass between them. 

"You saw what he did!" Keith quips back, indignant and fiery. "He had it coming and you know it!"

Shiro shakes his head. "Oh I know - I'm talking about your nose." 

"Oh." Keith reaches up to prod at it gently and winces slightly, smearing a bit of blood across his upper lip in an attempt to clean it up. 

"Yeah, 'oh'." Shiro sighs heavily to himself as Keith reaches down beside him and produces a small white towel. "You need to be more careful, Keith."

Allura leans closer to the glass, brows pulled together in concern. "Is it broken again?" 

"I don't think so," Keith holds the cloth to his face and turns to them again. "It doesn't feel like it, at least."

Lance remembers how the crooked edge of his nose had looked like that one evening and compares it to now. Although it looks irritated and it's definitely bleeding a fair amount, but it's not broken. "It's doesn't look like it either if that helps." He adds. Keith's eyes jump over to him and the aggressive spark in them dies down considerably. Lance  _tries_ not to think too much into anything, moving with the conversation before his mind can lead him places he doesn't need or want to go right now. "At least... from what I can see." 

Keith blinks dumbly at him, the majority of his expression hidden behind the towel he presses to his nose once more. "Well that's..." He pauses awkwardly. "Good, I guess."

" _Lucky_ is what it is." Shiro shakes his head in annoyance. "You know as much as I do what  _could_ have happened and you're fortunate it didn't. Honestly your face should be more a mess after all these years of fighting and yet you never back down."

"Yeah, yeah." Keith just rolls his eyes and waves away Shiro's nagging. "Whatever could have happened didn't happen so you can relax,  _Mom._ " Shiro narrows his eyes at his brother's comparison, just about to respond with what Lance assumes would be the lecture of the century, but then Pidge lunges forward over his and Allura's laps to stare excitedly at Keith. 

"I'm with Keith on this one, Shiro. That was so  _cool_!"

Keith pulls the towel away, the bleeding having mainly subsided, and laughs. "So I guess you like hockey now?"

"I  _love_ hockey!" They chirp back. "Although... I do see some things that could be improved on. For example: y -"

Allura clamps her hand over their mouth before they can share their undoubtedly dangerous ideas. "That's alright, Pidge. I think it's fine as is." She responds calmly. 

"Really though," Keith continues with a chuckle. "I"m glad you guys are having fun." 

"Are you kidding me?" Pidge mumbles around Allura's hand which they promptly swat away so they can speak more clearly, staring at Keith incredulously. "This was  _amazing_ \- I'm coming to every game from now on!" 

Hunk's massive form looms over Lance, pinning him between Hunk and Pidge, and shouts to be heard from his spot several seats down from the glass. "I second that! I had forgotten how much fun live games are! Oh my god, and live  _fights_ , too!" His eyes sparkle when Pidge turns to nod enthusiastically at him. " _So_ awesome."

Keith seems taken aback by their fervour at first, but the shock doesn't last long - replaced instead with a bright (and heart stopping) smile. Lance curses the erratic rhythm of his heartbeat and prays his friends can't sense how flustered he is through mere proximity. 

Those prayers obviously go unheard because it's now of all times that Keith fixes his attention to Lance, with almost-shy eyes and an uncertain smile. "And - " He hesitates like he's unsure whether he should continue or not, but something inside him wins and he goes on. "- what about you?" 

Almost all eyes are on him, then, waiting nonchalantly for his answer like Lance  _isn't_ about to spontaneously combust. "It was uh..." He wracks his brain for an answer that will come off as casual and make his interest in the sport purely innocent. "Cool. It was cool." 

_Incredible. Of all the words out there, 'cool' is the one you choose._

"Cool?"

Lance tries to convince himself that Keith  _didn't_ look disappointed by his answer but his brain is four steps ahead of him, doing metaphorical back flips while he attempts to remain composed. "Yeah. I've just - I've never seen a game before so I guess it's... pretty cool." 

"Yeah okay." Pidge snorts loudly and the attention shifts over to them, Lance's mind tripping on its backflips and stalling in panic.  _Oh shit._ "I think Lance liked it the most out of all of us." 

It's Lance's heart's turn to stop as he gapes at Pidge's betrayal. "Pidge." He fixes them with a weak glare and prays that they stop this torment. 

"Really?" Keith almost looks  _excited_ by this, looking between Pidge and Lance eagerly, then addressing Lance once more. "I didn't think you'd be into hockey?"

Lance stutters for a response, all thoughts completely frozen in his mind so Pidge takes over again, a coy grin stretched across their lips. "Oh he's into more than just the hockey I think." 

 _That_ sparks Lance to life and he whirls on his short friend. " _Pidge."_

Pidge begins to laugh but thankfully the conversation is pulled aside by Shiro, who diverts the conversation elsewhere for the time being (although not before sending Lance a curious stare). "So, what's the plan?" He faces Keith and nods out towards the ice. "There isn't much time left in the game and you guys are still tied up."

Keith hangs his head, his hair falling in front of his face, with a drawn out sigh. "Don't remind me. At least they don't have a power play." He swipes his bangs back from his eyes and sets his gaze ahead of him. "I'm just going to focus on offensive plays - put the pressure on them and hope they crack."

Shiro nods in agreement. "Maybe today's a hat trick kind of game - hmm, Captain?"

"Eugh," Keith's expression contorts into a grin as he shakes his head. "Don't call me that. The only reason I'm captain is because I have the most experience on the team and am the most likely to be drafted. It's definitely not because I'm a leader in any way." 

"Well, then." Shiro folds his arms over his chest and assumes the 'older brother lecturing' position. "Maybe you should start  _acting_ like one." Shiro looks up to the countdown hanging above the rink and Lance follows his gaze. By the time Keith gets back into the game, there will be only six or so minutes left. Lance doesn't know much about hockey but he knows they aren't done yet - not with Keith playing. The guy's too damn stubborn. And, judging by the glint in the captain's eyes, he knows it too. 

Although Shiro's gaze is firm, the tiniest hint of affection flashes across his features and Lance is reminded of the many peps talks he's given before competitions. He stares, unwavering, at his brother. 

"Score a nice one, Keith." 

Stoic and determined, he nods once. All Lance can see of him from this angle is the sharp planes of his profile - composed into a focused glare. He turns his head imperceptibly to the left, pointed jaw directed towards the hunched figure in the box beside him. Lance watches as the two captains stare each other down and, even from his place in the stands, he can feel their hostility crackle in the air. 

The timer sticks down to ten seconds as Keith pulls himself to his feet. He actively ignores Bokar doing the same and tugs his gloves on first, then his helmet, to wait for his penalty to end. He tilts his head just enough to look at each of them beyond the glass, who stare back with various expressions of glee, pride, and (in Lance's case) flustered awe. 

"Don't worry." He smirks boldly at them, as confident as Lance has ever seen him. "I've got this." 

 

3

2

1

 

Keith breaks into a near sprint and, despite entering the ice at the same time as Bokar, he is several feet ahead of him in only a few strides. However, when the Robeasts captain tears away to follow the puck, Keith splits off towards the far side of the rink. The woman who Lance assumes is his coach leans over the boards, stick in hand, just as Keith comes rushing past to snag it in his own. 

Lance spares a second to turn to Pidge with evil in his eyes. "This is the end our friendship, Pidge. The next time you need help with a routine don't come crawling to me because I will just leave you to suffer on your own. "

They only laugh, unfazed by his threats. "Don't care. It was  _so_ worth it."

Not wanting to miss more of the game, Lance turns his attention back to the game. He hadn't really been paying much attention to anything going on outside of the penalty box for the past five minutes, but there definitely weren't any goals in that time. Currently, there seems to be a struggle for the puck near the Lion's net - a struggle Keith charges head first into. He slams his shoulder into one of the Robeasts' forwards, hooks the puck from his possession, and launches it down the ice. 

"What?" Hunk frowns. "Won't he just get an icing call? What's the point in that?"

Shiro smiles as the ref stops the game. "It may not give them a chance to score right away. But -" Keith slides in close to his teammates at the face off and, with only a few words and a curt nod, the nervous jitter in their movements halt, replaced by a sudden calm. 

"But - it does give them a chance to regroup and take charge." 

* * *

Take charge they did. 

The intensity in the arena, amongst the players and the audience, increases ten fold. Keith's skills seem to kick into overdrive as he makes shot after shot at the net - all thwarted by the Robeasts' exhausted goalie. The downside to Keith and his team's resolve solidifying since his return to the ice is that it's sparked the same response in their opponents, making it near impossible for either of them to one-up the other.

The longest four minutes of Lance's life goes by and neither team has claimed the lead, but neither is giving up either. At this point, Lance wonders if it's even possible for anyone to score. Another shot gets thrown off course as Bokar slams into the shooter and the whistle blows, with the puck held tightly by their goalie.

Beside Lance, Allura throws her hands up with a groan of annoyance. "It's all Bokar! He's so frustratingly in the way!"

Shiro laughs but even his aggravation gets the better of him and a scowl pulls over his brow. "Keith will figure it out."

At the next face off, Keith mumbles something to his forward teammate who almost seems to smile when he nods in agreement. They share an amused look before splitting off to prepare for the puck drop. The whistle blows and the puck is picked up by the Robeasts almost immediately. The usual routine commences as the Lions chase after it but, this time, Keith doesn't seem to be watching the puck. He hangs a few feet from the boards, stick held close, as he follows Bokar's movements like a lion hunting a gazelle. With Keith so close to him, the Robeasts can't cleanly pass to Bokar, which leaves them scrambling to get past the Lion's defences and, ultimately, losing the puck.

The player Keith had talked to at the face off snatches the puck and loops back to the Robeasts' side of the rink. Bokar stops on a dime, moving to take off after them, but then Keith is there - less than a foot in front of him to keep him from racing off after it. And it's not only Bokar, the rest of the Robeasts seen a few seconds behind, which leaves the Lions with room to maneuver as they please. Lance's chest lightens at the hope of a goal - a win - and it's then that Keith throws himself against Bokar, the impact pushing him into the boards.

It happens quickly. So quickly that Lance doesn't actually see it happening, but suddenly Bokar's stick is in two and scattering across the ice. 

Lance can't help the bubble of laughter that hiccups from his lips. He stares over at Shiro, awestruck. "Did he  _mean_ to do that?"

Shiro smiles right back, his pride unashamed and bold, and shrugs nonchalantly. "Probably. He's Keith after all."

Keith wastes no time waiting for Bokar to pick himself up, instead Keith heaves off of the boards and tears after his teammates. HIs exceptional speed is definitely working to his advantage here, allowing him to quickly catch up without Bokar's presence there to stop him. His teammate spots him coming and Lance swears he seems him grin as he flicks his wrist to pass the puck to Keith's waiting stick. 

No one else saw him coming, saw his quickly approaching figure, or saw the small gap in their defence that Keith ducks into. 

The puck is in the net before anyone can move to stop it.

 

Lance launches himself to his feet, a cheering already tearing from his throat where it disappears into the cacophony of the crowd. Keith loops around the front of the net with a raise hand as his teammates rush to meet him, their own arms lifted in victory. The crowd seems a part of their celebration, the arena's energy alight with euphoric excitement. 

Then Shiro pulls his cap from his head and tosses it over the boards onto the ice. 

Several more people follow his lead as Lance and his friends look on in confusion. Pidge turns to Shiro, their own confusion overpowered by their elation as they question him. "Why did you do that?"

"Keith scored three goals in one game - it's called a hat trick." He continues to clap loudly, refusing to pause his celebration. "It's tradition."

"Oh!" Pidge doesn't hesitate in yanking their own beanie from their head and tossing it after Shiro's. They seem  _enthralled_ to do this, but then, a few beats after their chirpy giggling, they seem to realize what exactly it is they've done. They pause. "Wait. Am I going to get that back?"

Lance shrugs, laughing at their sudden horror. "You threw it onto the ice, dude. It's gone."

"But..." They seem genuinely upset by what should have been an obvious turn of events. "That's my hat..."

Still in the middle of a group hug, Keith pulls himself away from his teammates to make room for a few arena workers that have appeared to scoop up the hats now scattered across the ice. Pidge waves their arms to catch his attention, calling out wildly. 

"Keith!  _Keith!_ " 

Lance is certain Keith can't hear them - considering the distance between them - and it doesn't look like he does, but he's skating towards them anyways, probably to share in their own celebratory moment together. 

Pidge repeats their yelling when Keith spots them calling for his attention. "Keith! My hat!"

They point towards the gray beanie buried beneath a few other caps from surrounding spectators and Keith's follows their gestures to its spot on the ice, pausing to check it's the right one, before picking it up. Pidge nods and holds their hands out above them as Keith lobs it over the glass to them. They tug it back onto their head and offer him a quick thumbs up. 

"Hey, Keith!" Shiro cups his hands over his mouth to call after his brother. "Can you grab my cap?"

Keith raises one eyebrow at him and even Lance can see the mischievous glint in his eye, but Shiro tries again anyways. 

"Keith! My  _cap_!" 

Keith loops lazily away from the boards as an employee takes his pace to clean up the ice. Keith watches them scoop up a few hates, Shiro's included, before looking up, shrugging, and mouthing something along the lines of " _can't hear you"._ Shiro just shakes his head with a laugh as the last few hats are collected and the teams gear up for what could be the last face off. 

The crowd has only barely calmed down from the high of the last goal, the tweet of the whistle hardly audible under their chatter. The clock continues its countdown with only a minute and a half left of what Lance assumes was the most stressful game of the year. 

Bokar seems frustrated - new stick in hand as he chases the puck back and forth between the Lions who seem intent on eating up the last minute of play with pointless plays. From player to player, the puck hops across the ice and the Robeasts desperately struggle to catch up. Bokar all but throws himself into the puck's path and takes off at full tilt towards the Lion's net. Because of his desperation, his shot is messy and unrefined, practically a joke to the Lion's tank of a goalie. He bats the puck aside with the end of his stick to where Keith was waiting to picking it up. Bokar sneers in anger but the goalie hardly even blinks at him. 

The puck hovers around centre ice while both teams seem to accept the outcome and the clock ticks down -

5

4

3

2

1

 

Then the crowd erupts once more while the Lions - even those who climb onto the ice from the bench - slam together in one joyful celebration. 

Hunk slings an arm over Lance's shoulder as they howl together, voices going hoarse from the night's excitement. Pidge climbs atop their seat to make themself more present amongst the crowd while Allura lets herself be pulled to her feet again so that both she and Shiro can join in. Keith is briefly hidden from sight as his team envelopes him into a hybrid tackle-hug, but he soon emerges, helmet off and hair ruffled. His smiles seems uncontrollable, as well as those of his teammates, and Lance's chest tightens with emotions he can't quite untangle from one another. There is an undeniable pride within him, though, and he must wonder how Shiro is feeling.

Keith then turns, eyes scanning the crowd until they fall on the five of them. Their cheers grow louder, a sharp whistle thrown in by Hunk beside him, and Keith almost looks bashful. Head ducked down, he holds a gloved hand up in a curt wave to acknowledge their praise.

 

When Keith looks back up, Lance tries to pretend he didn't notice how directly Keith stares at him, eyes soft and warm, before skating off to join his time again. 

One more emotion, one Lance refuses to name, slowly grows undeniable within him. 

* * *

"Where  _is_ he?" Pidge hops in place, obviously very eager for Keith to show up. 

Shiro holds up a hand to calm them (even though it's futile). "He'll be here, don't worry." 

The majority of the crowd has dispersed by now, heading home in either victory or defeat, save for the few related to the players. It's been around fifteen minutes since they had abandoned their seats to wait in the main lobby for Keith to finish getting changed. None of them could shut up about the game, quizzing Shiro and Allura on hockey trivia after they've finished recapping the game to ride their adrenaline a while longer. It's late and the high will soon give way to fatigue, but Lance doesn't care - neither do the rest of them. Instead they wait not-so-patiently for their mulleted Red Lion. 

"Wait!" Hunk, at least a head taller than most of them, is the first to spot him, perking up immediately. "There he is!"

Sure enough, Keith emerges from around a corner, enormous gym bag slung across his back and red cap pulled onto his head. He seems to spot them pretty quickly and makes his way over, smile just as bright as it was back on the ice. 

Pidge can't seem to wait long enough for him to finish the trip and rushes off to meet him halfway. They practically fling themself onto him as the rest of the group follows.

Keith only chuckles and holds his hand up away from them. "I wouldn't do that if I was you - I smell pretty gross right now."

"Don't care." They squeeze just a bit tight. "Accept the hug." Keith's laughter continues as the rest of them reach his side and Pidge reluctantly lets go. 

Shiro claps him on the shoulder and envelopes him into a hug of his own. "Congratulations! That was one incredible game!" Keith seems even more bashful now that the praise is face to face, and looks to the ground, rubbing his nose to avoid looking at his brother's viciously brilliant smile. 

Allura jumps in them, "Really, Keith - you were wonderful." Her smile is warm and glowing, radiating affection that Keith blushes furiously at. 

"T-thanks." Shiro keeps his arm slung over his shoulder while Keith looks at each of them in turn. "All of you. Thank you. It was... nice having you guys here. I wasn't sure if you'd enjoy it, honestly."

Lance's excitement still bubbles inside him and he pipes up. "Are you kidding me? That was the most adrenaline I've felt in  _years_!" Keith meets his gaze, somewhat shock, so Lance continues with a grin. "Nicely done, Captain."

" _Oh my god,_ " Keith seems to visibly start at that - his lips parting just slightly as what looks likes a faint blush flares across the bridge of his nose. "P-Please don't call me that."

"Ah," Lance hums as he remembers. "Right, you 'aren't like a captain' - I forgot." He tilts his head, questioningly. "Does 'Kogane' or '#93' work better? I don't know what you hockey players call each other." 

"Wait, that reminds me." Hunk leans forward to join their conversation. "Sometimes players choose their jersey numbers for specific reasons... Is there any reason you chose 93?"

Shiro, arm still hanging loosely over Keith, shakes his head while Keith shrugs. "Nah. I just liked it."

"Keith here, doesn't spare much thought for decisions like that." Shiro steps away from his brother with a roll of his eyes.

"What?" Keith snaps back in true younger brother style. "And your reasoning is so deep?"

"Yup."

Hunk frowns. "What does  _yours_ mean, then?"

Shiro looks down at the bold 61 on his chest, one hand reaching up to smooth over it. "Well, Keith was six years old when he was brought home - " He taps the blocky six then moves over to the zero. "- in 2001. I didn't want just 01 so I decided on this." 

At some point during Shiro's explanation, Keith turned to his older brother in dumbfounded surprise who looks right back down at him. Keith struggles to form even a barely fluid sentence. "I... I didn't know that... Is that -" He pauses briefly, genuine emotion thick in his voice when he continues. "Is that really the reason?

Shiro almost seems confused that Keith would ask that. "Of course. What else would it be?" 

Keith doesn't have a response. Or a reaction, really. He seems incapable of doing anything other than stare up at his brother in doe-eyed wonder, like Shiro is the human embodiment of the sun. Shiro only smirks at his younger brother's shock before his expression pulls into a frown.

"Wait a minute." He points to the cap on Keith's head. "Is that my hat?"

"Oh," Keith reaches up to touch the rim of the bold red cap. "Right. I went it got it from the staff. Here - " 

He moves to pull it off but Shiro shakes his head, knocking it down over Keith's eyes playfully. "Nah, it looks better on you. Keep it." 

Keith pulls the hat back up, peering at his brother from under it, and (although he tries to hide it) his undeniably brilliant smile shines out from the shadow it casts across his face. 

Lance could laugh at Keith's behaviour, who is probably two seconds away from crying, but he chooses to let the moment be, nodding over his shoulder to the exit doors.

"Let's get going," he starts. "We've got a long drive home." 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the fluffiest chapter to date haha! there isn't a drop of angst which is unheard of for oti but there yah go!  
> also i'm never going to finish that story of Shiro and his old girlfriend bc it's a personal story and i dont need the internet to have that kind of blackmail against me
> 
> WE GOT MORE ART! GO GIVE THEM SOME LOVE!!!!!!!!!!  
> I will update this later to be more specific with links to everyone directly but for now, follow this link below and everything from pages 1-4 is new content posted since the last chapter! :)
> 
> http://wardenalistair.tumblr.com/tagged/oti/page/4


	8. Puck That

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO ALL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It's been another busy couple of months but at long last: an update! It's the longest to date, too, so hopefully that makes up for it :)
> 
> A few warnings about this chapter!  
> cw for vomit mention. Nothing explicit but ya know... just a heads up for those with emetophobia! Also theres a mild, alluded to panic attack at the VERY END of this chapter so take care reading!
> 
> come chat with us on social media!  
> Author & co-creator: tumblr user wardenalistair. minadoraa on twitter.  
> Artist & co-creator: tumblr user soottea. sootttea on twitter.

 

“May I be excused?”

Pidge sighs loudly and skids to a stop, mid lunge, turning to watch Hunk clutch pathetically at his stomach, skin pale and sickly. “Again?”

Hunk only manages a feeble nod, mouth pinched into a tight line.

“Go on, Hunk.” Shiro steps in with his eyebrows pulled together in concern. He waves a hand towards the rink doors and Hunk wastes no time in launching himself in their direction. He yanks the door open so roughly Keith worries they might fly off their hinges but then he’s disappeared out of sight and they click quietly shut behind him.

Pidge sighs once more, as if they don’t know what else to do, and turns towards their coach. “Our competition is _Friday_ \- how are we going to accomplish anything when he keeps running off to blow his chunks?”

Shiro leans in close to them, probably to say something reassuring but Keith can’t make it out from his spot in the stands. Beside him, Lance links his hands behind his head and leans back in his seat.

“It’s not like they can talk, really.” He stretches his legs out as he closes his eyes.

“What do you mean?” Keith looks away from his brother and Pidge to frown, confused, at Lance.

He snorts in response - although there’s no hint of contempt or mockery in his voice when he speaks, instead the tiniest inkling of sympathy and concern. “Pidge isn’t skating like they usually do. Sure, they’re not running off to the bathroom every ten minutes but they definitely aren’t at the top of their game, either.”

Keith contemplates this silently. He’s no expert, but even _he_ noticed the mistakes in Pidges routine today. They were shaky, uncertain, and fumbled through jumps like they were only just learning them. Hunk seemed to show his nerves in very obvious ways but Pidge’s seemed to just throw them off.

“Are they always like this?” Keith asks as he turns his attention back to Lance’s profile.

Slowly, he opens his eyes and looks at Keith through his peripheral vision, pursing his lips briefly. “It’s not unlike either of them to be nervous but this…” He shakes his head and stares back off towards his friend on the ice. “This isn’t normal.”

“I don’t understand.” Keith presses. “What is it about this competition that has them so freaked out? Why is it so special?”

Lance hums thoughtfully as he takes a few seconds to mull this over, laying his hands back into his lap and straightening up in his seat. “I mean, it _is_ a pretty tough competition, which I’m sure isn’t helping. But I think it’s more so the routine than anything else.”

“It’s… more difficult than usual?”

Lance nods. “They really wanted Shiro and Allura to push them this time. I told both of them that it might be too much but…” He shrugs and trails off without completing the thought - not really needing to.

“You can’t really blame them for wanting to get better, though.” Keith notes as he digs his hands into his sweater pockets.

There’s a brief moment when Lance turns to him where he looks genuinely surprised by Keith’s response - almost baffled - but then he pushes those reactions down and settles his expression back to baseline. “No, I can’t. But I can blame them for pushing themselves too far, which is exactly what I’m worried they’re doing.”

Despite wanting to, Keith doesn’t have anymore time to delve further into the topic, as Hunk slowly trudges back through the rink doors. Shiro looks towards him but Hunk waves a dismissive hand in response. Although his ashy complexion seems to speak more than his gesture because Shiro takes one look at him before nod understandingly and turning back to Pidge. Hunk continues down the aisle to Keith’s right and, with a heavy thud, drops down into the seat next to him. Both Keith and Lance look towards him sympathetically but Lance is the first to greet him.

“Ah,” he hums, leaning slightly around Keith to get a better look at his friend’s face. “Speak of the devil. How ya feelin’?”

A mumbled groan is all he receives in response, Hunk’s face turned up to the ceiling as he takes slow, even breaths.

“That good, huh?” Lance nods as if he understands and falls silent once more.

Keith, unsure of what to do, tries to take after his brother momentarily, reaching over to pat Hunk reassuringly on the arm and drops his voice to a calm, even tone (well - as best he can). “I’m sure it will all be okay, Hunk. Both you and Pidge are amazing skaters so there’s no way you could blow it.”

Hunk’s expression, which had grown somewhat more composed, flushes again and a flash of panic flares up across his features. He tries to take in another steady breath but it comes out shaky on the exhale. “Oh yes there is. Have you been watching our rehearsals?”

Keith’s heart drops, whatever hope he had on encouraging his worried friend went flying out the window in an instant with a slump of his shoulders. Thankfully, Lance ducks in again with a roll of his eyes.

“Come on, none of these rehearsals are how you guys _really_ skate! If they were, you wouldn’t have even qualified for this competition.”

Hunk just sighs, deep and slow, and shakes his head at him. “Lance…”

“Nope. Don’t you ‘Lance’ me.” His eyes seem to soften slightly and his voice loses most of its joking edge, not quite as sharp as it was before. “You’ve got this in the bag, dude. You know it as much as I do, so don’t even try to deny it.”

Hunk takes in a breath, as if to continue arguing, but Lance shushes him and fixes him with an intense look. They have a silent stare-off for so long that Keith begins to wonder how much could _actually_ be said through expression alone; only for Hunk to sigh, almost as if he lost a battle Keith was not aware was happening, and rise out of his seat slowly.

“Well,” he raises his arms into a stretch that makes him look even taller than he already is. “I guess this pep talk will go to waste if I don’t go back out there and work.”

“Make me proud!” Lance dramatically presses a hand to his heart and sniffles quietly.

Hunk rolls his eyes and shoots him a look, although the amusement in his eyes betrays whatever semblance of annoyance he was trying to convey. With a small wave over his shoulder, he trails down to rejoin his partner and coach on the ice. Lance lets himself lean back into his seat while he fishes his cellphone out of his pocket, swiping open the lock screen with a flick of his thumb.

Keith stares at the side of his face with a shocked frown. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Just…” Keith gestures vaguely between him and Hunk. “Get him to calm down? That easily, I mean?”

Lance seems to find that funny, snorting lightly before continuing. “Hunk is _definitely_ not calm. He’s still freaking the fuck out right now - only on the inside, though.”

“Still you manage to do _something_.” Keith countered.

“I know Hunk. He just needs to be told that he isn’t a complete failure.” Lance only shrugs, not taking his eyes off the screen while he talks. “Everyone does, really. And most of the time, I just respond how I’d want others to respond - it usually helps a little bit at the very least.”

“Huh…” Keith continues to look at him as the conversation dies off on its own.

 _How he’d want people to respond?_ How would _Keith_ want people to treat him when he’s stressed or worked up? Often times he prefers being on his own so he can’t really say he’d even want someone there at all. For him, it’s more about distractions than consolations. Sometimes he’d spend his whole day marathoning a series or two, other times he’d actually make use of the gym in their rec centre to burn off his stress, but most of the time he’d usually just save it all for his next hockey practice to take it out then.

He does think, however, that the differences between his and Lance’s preferences say a lot about the kinds of people they are. But that’s not something he wants to delve too deeply into right now.

“Don’t worry about it, Hunk.” Shiro’s voice interrupts Keith’s pondering and pulls his attention towards the ice. “I think we’ve had enough practice for the day, anyways.”

Shiro steps off of the ice first and plops himself down into a seat to start untying his laces, followed shortly by a rather gloomy looking Hunk and an exhausted Pidge.

“Just a _little_ bit longer,” Hunk wines. “One more run-through. That’s all I ask.”

Shiro only shakes his head, barely even bothering to look up at him. “I’d rather we give up an extra hour of rehearsal time than have you two injure yourselves or make yourselves sick from stress.”

“Shiro -”

“Hunk.” Allura appears then, strolling down the aisle to Keith’s right with only a slight limp in her step. “There is nothing more that can be done now. Even if we let you run-through it once more, there’s no time to make improvements or corrections. Any more practice at this point would be useless.”

Pidge, not part of this conversation until now, has joined Shiro in removing their skates with deft fingers. “She’s right, Hunk. We’re not going to get any better from one more rehearsal.”

“But I just -” Hunk groans loudly in frustration.  
“We’ve all felt the way you’re feeling now but there’s no use in pushing yourself too far.” Allura places a hand on the back of Shiro’s seat to take the weight off of her sore ankle. “What good would one more run-through be if you were unable to skate the _actual_ competition?”

Lance leans over to Keith, shoulders pressing together while he lowers his voice to keep the others from hearing. “Hunk is about two steps away from awakening Scary Allura.”

“‘Scary Allura?’” Keith whispers back.

“It’s best you don’t know, honestly.” He shakes his head. “If there’s any advice I can give, though, it’s to not push her. Period. You have no idea what you’d be stepping into.”

Keith looks down at Allura and Hunk as they stare each other down on the rink’s edge. “Trust me, I think I can imagine it.”

“Hunk.” Pidge steps in, then, probably sensing where the situation could escalate to. “Allura is right. We’ve still got plenty more rehearsals left before Nationals so there’s no point in overdoing it today.”

Hunk looks between them, Allura, and Shiro for a few seconds, as if looking for a way out of the hole he’s dug himself into, but caves shortly afterwards with a sigh. “ _Fine_. But next time we start the practice with a run-through.”

“Deal.” Shiro pushes himself to his feet, having swapped his skates for a pair of sneakers, and rests his hands on his hips. “Now that that’s resolved, let’s head out.”

Keith frowns as Pidge and Hunk start gathering up their things, and Lance beside him pulls his jacket out from his bag. “Head out where? Aren’t there more lessons today?”

“Not today. We took a day off so me and Coran could look into a few repairs and renovations in the arena.” Allura looks back at him, stepping aside so Shiro can move into the aisle, as well. “Thankfully nothing too complex but it’s always easier when there’s no one here.”

Shiro smiles teasingly at her as he slings his own bag onto his shoulder. “I’ll make sure to think of you while I’m relaxing at home.”

“How kind of you,” she retorts sarcastically and shoves him away with an amused smirk. “Get going - I have work to do.”

The five of them work their way up the aisle to the rink doors, Shiro taking up the rear as he chirps goodbyes to Allura and instructions to call him if she needs him (which she jokingly informs him she won’t). The main lobby is quiet - which is not unusual for this time of day, but Keith is used to at least a few people hanging around in the small space when morning rehearsals end. Everyone begins preparing to face the cold, bundling up as best they can with various scarves and hats with reluctance. Keith isn’t a fan of this weather either which is pretty clear considering how many layers he pulls on as he slowly makes his way towards the entrance.

“Are you taking the train?” Shiro calls out to him as he tugs a hat onto his own head.

Keith looks at him with an expression that best conveys the expression of ‘ _duh_ ’. “How else would I get home?”

“I have to head past your place to get to mine,” he digs into his jacket pocket and digs out his keys. “You might as well hitch a ride with me.”

“Oh - uh - don’t worry about it. I’ll be okay.” Keith shakes his head and tries to continue his path towards the main entrance.

Shiro frowns. “It’s not a big deal, Keith. I’m going that way, anyways.”

“Honestly,” Keith takes a few more steps as he holds up his hands to wave away Shiro’s offer. “It’s fine. I don’t min-”

“Keith.” His brother stares him down with a raised brow, like he’s being completely unreasonable and ridiculous, and walks straight past him to push open the door. “I’m driving you home.”

Without a further word, Shiro ducks outside, traversing the sidewalk to his car parked in his usual spot. He shoots him once last look before swinging inside and yanking the door shut behind him. There’s a brief moment where Keith contemplates just walking away, straight past Shiro’s car towards the subway, but he _knows_ his brother will drive incredibly slowly beside him the whole time. So he caves, offers one quick, defeated wave to the rest of the group as they also prepare to leave, and trudges outside to the passenger side of Shiro’s car. He dramatically plops himself into the seat and makes a point of glaring at his brother while Shiro turns the key in the ignition and Keith pulls his seatbelt across his chest.

“There,” his word is punctuated by the click of the seat belt. “Happy?”

Shiro puts a hand behind Keith’s seat while he backs out of his parking spot, an amused smile a constant in his expression. “Very.” He straightens them out and takes off out of the lot and onto the main road.

* * *

Shiro _immediately_ starts his usual routine of nagging the shit out of Keith about the state of his apartment within seconds of arriving there.

Keith, exasperated, kicks his shoes off and rolls his eyes at his brother’s predictability. “ _This_ is why I didn’t want you driving me.”

“What?” Shiro asks from his doorway as he tugs the door shut behind him, very much aware of the stickiness of the hinges.

“You get like this every time you’re here.”

Shiro groans in annoyance and continues to pester him. “Like _what_?”

“Nagging. Overbearing. Annoying.” Keith lists as he pads across his tiny home. “Those are only a few descriptors, though. Should I go on?”

Shiro rolls his eyes as he pulls off his own shoes, far more gently and neatly than Keith. “Well, if your house wasn’t such a mess I wouldn’t have to nag.”

“Oh my god,” Keith groans loudly so that Shiro knows his thoughts on the matter. “Whatever, I have a television show to marathon.” He flops onto the futon with a huff and reaches for his laptop perch on a nearby stack of messily piled books.

“What show?” Shiro cranes his neck to get a glimpse of the screen now glowing to life.

Keith types in a few things, his loud keyboard filling the room with a quiet background hum of noise. “It’s a documentary about serial killers I found online.”

Shiro exhales a long sigh with a shake of his head and turns away from Keith’s screen, his voice completely deadpan. “I don’t know why I ask.”

“It’s good!”

“Okay, sure.” Shiro looks at him skeptically with a small smirk. “Says the kid that had an entire shelf on his bookcase dedicated to the Loch Ness Monster.”

Keith glares at him darkly and jabs a finger towards his brother’s teasing eyes. “She _could_ be real, you know!”

Shiro doesn’t offer him a response of any kind, instead, he takes this opportunity to stroll through Keith’s apartment and scrutinize every square inch of the space. He’s only really been to Keith’s place a few times now but there isn’t much to be seen. After they somewhat reconciled after their falling apart, Shiro had stopped by to pick him up once or twice, but he’s never stayed longer than a few hours. It isn’t like Keith changes the decor all that much - he only has a limited number of ways to organize everything in the cramped room.

And yet Shiro still inspects it like it’s all new to him.

He spends only a few seconds of peering into his mainly empty fridge before turning to Keith with a disappointed frown.

“What?” Keith shrugs, trying to avoid his brother’s silent scolding. “Food’s expensive.”

Shiro scoffs loudly. “How have you _survived_ for so long on your own?”

“Hey now - I’m doing pretty alright if you ask me.”

“Keith,” Shiro folds his arms over his chest as his frown deepens. “I don’t think mountains of dirty laundry and a fridge full of expired condiments counts as ‘pretty alright’.”

Keith only rolls his eyes before turning his attention back to his computer screen. “You sound more and more like mom every day.”

That seems to pull Shiro’s gaze away from the state of Keith’s apartment and onto a different topic - something Keith can’t quite completely classify as a good or bad thing. “Speaking of Mom -” He crosses the room in a few steps and lowers himself next to Keith on the futon. “She called again.”

Keith groans once more. “Please don’t tell me she’s still scrounging for details about the recital.”

“No, no.” Shiro waves his hand in the air to dismiss that concern. “She already got plenty out of both me and Allura.”

“ _What_?”

This pulls a quick bark of laughter out of his brother. “Are you really shocked? This is our mother we’re talking about here. She will find a way to get what she wants even if we actively try to stop her.”

“Unfortunately,” Keith sighs heavily and pauses the video on his computer so it can load a little while longer, leaning his head back to look up at Shiro’s face. “What did she want this time?”

“She was just asking about Provincials.”

“What?” Keith’s confusion grows. “We already talked about them - I called her the day after the game.”

“Come on, now. You know Mom, she doesn’t let up that easily.” Shiro moves on quickly with a small tilt of his head. “Besides, she was wondering what’s going on with figure skating now that the tadpole lessons are finished.”

Keith freezes in place, even his breathing stilling while his brother stares down at him, impassive and calm, in silence.

“I couldn’t answer her. I don’t know what’s going on either. So, Keith -” Shiro leans forward and forces Keith to make direct, albeit uncomfortable, eye contact. “What’s going on?”

Keith turns away again, this time physically removing himself from the situation and strolling across to the kitchen, like he’s just looking for a snack and definitely _not_ running away from the conversation. “What do you mean ‘what’s going on’? It’s over, isn’t it?”

“Well that’s my point,” Shiro hooks an arm over the back of the futon as he reclines and watches Keith wander away. “It’s over.”

“Great. So we’re on the same page, then.” Keith closes a pantry door after spotting the granola bar he was hoping he’d find.

“Not quite.”

“Shiro - if it’s over, then it’s over.” He tugs a little too roughly on the wrapper, tearing it completely off and tossing it onto his messy counters.  “I passed the class so that means I’m done.”

“Mhm,” Shiro hums in agreement but there’s a hunt of sarcasm in the notes as he gestures widely towards Keith’s front door. “Then why do you still have you skates?”

Hung up above his boots, partially hidden by his coat sleeve, the shining metallic sheen of his skates’ pick stares Keith boldly in the face. He quickly sidesteps in front of it and into Shiro’s line of sight to interrupt his judging stare.

“I hadn’t found… the _right time_ to return them, yet - that’s all.”

“Keith…” Shiro stands up with a drawn out sigh, approaching him slowly. “Look, I’m not trying to tease you or anything.”

“It sure sounds like it.” Keith retorts with a well timed bite of his granola bar.

“I’m serious.” He stops just short of the kitchen’s threshold, which isn’t that far away in reality. “Allura and I have been talking about it a lot lately and we _both_ think future lessons could be beneficial to you.”

Keith looks at his brother skeptically. “As a hockey player?”

“Well, Allura suggests it mainly because she thinks you have talent.” He smiles then, warm and sincere, like he can’t help himself. “But I was your coach once, remember. I know how you usually play and Provincials - there was nothing _usual_ about that game, Keith. You’ve improved. And I don’t think it’s just from hockey practices.”

Unsure and somewhat self-conscious, Keith ducks his head, picking at one particularly crummy looking chocolate chip. “Don’t you think you’re a _little_ biased?”

“Probably,” Shiro shrugs nonchalantly. “But I still think it’s something you should consider.”

Quietly, tentatively, Keith peeks up at him. “Continuing…?”

“Continuing.” Shiro repeats with a single firm nod.

If Keith is honest, he’s been…. thinking about it prior to Shiro’s suggestion. He hasn’t outright said it in so many words but - it’s definitely there.

He’s sure that from an outsider’s perspective,he and his teammates looked close-knit, flinging themselves on one another after a goal, completely elated. That perspective isn’t _entirely_ untrue, of course. They liked each other enough, they got along, but it’s like their relationship ends off the ice. He knows that a few of the other senior players are closer than the rest of them, celebrating together after nearly every game and joking around during practices. Same goes for some of the newer players. But Keith never made that connection with them, never really _clicked_.

 

He clicked with this new team, though.

 

He isn’t sure what it is that pulled the figure skating team so close together, like family. They bicker, tease, fight, and joke around - but ultimately they have each other’s back. And it’s a little frightening how quickly they adopted Keith into their group. Almost eight weeks ago, he was a complete stranger to them - save for the odd story from Shiro - but now they’re treating him the same as they do each other. It’s definitely… surprising.

It’s also not unwelcome.

Keith has enjoyed the camaraderie and the near unconditional support they’ve shown him, he won’t lie. He sometimes isn’t sure how to respond to it but it’s not unappreciated.  

Continuing with figure skating, though?

That was… something else entirely.

Now, he won’t deny that he’s considered it - especially in the days following Provincials. They had won, just barely, but they won nevertheless. The gold medal hanging from his bookshelf proved that. But that was hardly the reason he was so thrilled at the game. It was only part of it - not all of it.

Scoring a goal - felt good.

Winning the game - felt really good.

Slamming his fist into Bokar’s thick skull - felt ridiculously good.

Seeing his brother and friends watching him with unrestrained joy in their eyes - felt _way_ better than good.

It wasn’t even about the win to Keith. Not when they were there.

 

Even compared to the recital, winning old was only a fraction of the pride and elation he felt after the recital. He couldn’t _quite_ understand it but -

He was being won over.

And that both scared and enthralled him.

 

“Keith.” Shiro pulls him out of his silent contemplation and back into the present where his brother stares at him with a softer look than he previously bore. “Listen, just -- just think about it, okay? Allura and I both think it’s a good idea but this is _your_ choice. We won’t force you into anything.”

Keith watches him for a few moments, neither one of them saying anything and just letting the words hang in the air. There have been times in the past where his brother has looked like a stranger to Keith, with eyes and expressions that he’s never seen before. Those instances never sat right with him, still don’t. They followed him for days afterwards and, even now, he’s unable to entirely shake that feeling of heartbroken dread that sat in his gut like rock.

This, however, was not one of those times.

The gentle, supportive gaze he saw so often as a child, uncertain and self-conscious as most children are, blinks back at him now so many years into the future. It’s a comfort seeing it again. Even with the sharp bite of bittersweet nostalgia nipping at the edges of his mind, it still manages to pull a small smile to Keith’s lips, which he turns away to hide.

“Okay….” Keith sighs slowly. “Okay. I’ll think about it.”

“Good.” Shiro sighs next, slightly deeper as he steps forward to lean back against the counter.

Keith lets the air and his mind still briefly before he pops the end of the granola bar into his mouth and turns to his brother once more. “Speaking of Allura,” he mumbles around his food. “How _is_ she?”

“You mean her sprain?” Keith nods in response as he watches Shiro shrug calmly. “She’s good - pretty much healed at this point. Which is both relieving and unnerving as she’ll be on the ice again soon.”

Keith raises his eyebrows while he swallows the last mouthful. “Uh oh - do I sense “Protective Shiro” closing in on us?”

Shiro laughs lightly with a shake of his head. “There’s no one on this earth who could stop Allura from doing what she wants. Not even her father could keep her reigned in for long, no matter how hard he tried. Besides, there’s no point in stopping her, not when she’s all healed up.”

“You…” Keith pauses and frowns at his brother’s ease. “You reacted better to all of this than I thought you would, honestly.”

“I haven’t always if that’s any comfort to hear.”

“So this has happened before?” Keith asks.

“Many times, actually. A few injuries were pretty serious, too.” Shiro seems so matter of fact about the conversation at hand, despite the words coming out of his mouth.

“And you’re…” Keith trails off momentarily, meets his brother’s eye, and continues hesitantly. “...okay with that?”

Finally, Shiro’s calm expression falters slightly and his eyes betray a somber glint. “I wouldn’t say I’m okay with it. It’s hard to watch your partner get hurt - terrifying, really - and it’s easy to blame yourself in the moment. But that doesn’t accomplish anything; it doesn’t erase what happened and it doesn’t help you, your partner, or your relationship as a whole. Letting your fear hold you back does nothing but make it harder to get back onto your feet. So we don’t let it.”

“So you’re not worried that one of you guys will get hurt again?”

“ _God_ no.” Shiro scoffs loudly. “We’re constantly taking risks in this sport - every time we step on the ice is an opportunity for us to seriously injure ourselves or each other. But we’re doing this together. We _both_ made this choice and we’re _both_ seeing it through.”

In the moments between responses, Keith tries to figure out when his brother ever became this mature. He was always a bit of an idol in Keith’s eyes but he was still a huge dork like the rest of their family. It makes him wonder what other development he missed in Shiro, what other moments they missed out on experiencing. It’s a feeling he doesn’t entirely enjoy so he quickly darts away from it.

“While we’re talking about her -” He folds his arms over his chest and quirks an eyebrow with a grin. “Are you going to actually ask Allura out? _Ever_?”

Shiro sighs as if actually exhausted but still manages to fix Keith with an annoyed look. “Don’t start with that.”

“You’re being such a baby about this, Shiro.”

“ _Keith._ ” Shiro’s eyes narrow to emphasis the firm warning conveyed in the vowels of Keith’s name.

“ _Shiro_.” Keith mocks his tone of voice with a squint of his own eyes. “Honestly, why don’t you just tell her?”

Shiro, who had thrown his head back in frustration, seems to think of something, clarity sparking in his expression before he whips back to meet Keith’s eyes, stoic and serious. “Alright then: why don’t you just tell _Lance_?”

The wind is quite swiftly taken out of Keith’s sails with that one single comment, with not even a soft breeze left over as Shiro stares him down with a waiting look. Keith trips over his thoughts and desperately clings to any sense of calm he once held.

“Tell -” he frowns like he doesn’t understand. “Tell lance what?”

Shiro isn’t buying it, too used to Keith’s bluffing tells from all the times he lied to Shiro over the years. “You know what.”

“I _really_ don’t.” He even tries for a casual scoff but Shiro only rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, alright.” He snags his bag from where he dropped it by the front door earlier and almost seems to laugh at himself. “I’ll leave you to figure it out on your own, then. Whatever _it_ is, of course.”

“I’m telling you: I don’t know.”

Shiro waves over his shoulder as he pushes the door open with a heavy shove, completely ignoring Keith’s denial at this point. “And think about those lessons.” He turns to him, then, halfway out the door frame, and his expression shifts into a softer look, dropping his teasing smirk. “I’m serious when I say it would really do you well. So just think about it. That’s all I ask.” Then he’s slipped into the hallway with the door clicking back into place and filling Keith’s apartment with silence once more.

He stares at the peeling paint of his pathetic excuse for a front door for at least a minute, replaying the tail end of their conversation over and over in his head until the reality of it all slowly sinks in.

 _Fuck_.

* * *

As Pidge and Hunk’s competition inches closer, Keith becomes acquainted with a whole new pair of people.

Pidge is edging on hysterical, their nerves manifesting into a constant drive to make and complete dozens of to-do lists that they then shove into other people’s faces. They nagged Matt about the competitions necessary equipment for nearly two hours one day, making sure they had everything and it was all in working order. Five times. Matt, who seemed pretty used to his sibling’s anxious micromanaging, was even starting to grow tired of it, with a tense smile stretched just slightly too tightly across his lips. When they weren’t bothering their brother about the tech, they were shadowing Shiro’s every move as they ranted on and on about both the technical and performance aspects of their routines. Thankfully for Shiro, he had an office he could disappear into, leaving the rest of them to help calm Pidge’s near-manic anxious babbling.

Hunk, on the other hand, lost all of his jolly, upbeat attitude, replacing it instead with a constant state of nausea. A singular word about the competition would have him racing to the nearest garbage bin, hand clutched to his mouth and eyes wide. He had only barely made it once and Keith had turned to Lance, stretching just off the ice, with raised eyebrows.

“ _That_ certainly wouldn’t have been nice to clean off the ice.” He joked, although still a little concerned for the tall figure bent over the bin.

But Lance, with the eyes of a man who’s lost his will to survive, stares back at him, expression suddenly very serious. “Don’t.” He holds up a hand to stall Keith’s thought. “Don’t joke about that.”

None of them could calm them down, either. There were no more magic words that would smother this fear of theirs and Keith was officially starting to worry about them.

Allura, now able to do mild skating periodically, had sat down with Keith during one of the pair’s afternoon lessons. “They can’t seem to let go of their anxiety.” She frowned while watching Shiro coach them through some of their footwork sequences. “They always get nervous before competitions but this is very different. They’re both holding onto their fear instead of _using_ it to their advantage - or at least burning it off somehow.” She shook her head, lips pulled into a tight line. “They’re going to hurt themselves if they can’t relax.”

 

Keith thought about that for some time afterwards.

Often times, when _he_ was worked up about something, some loud music and an aggressive trip to the gym was all he needed. That’s why his heavy pre-game music worked so well for him - gave him some way to get all his pent up stress out so he could focus on the game ahead of him. But neither Pidge nor Hunk seemed like the thrash metal kind of people… And Lance told him that he and Hunk are at the Gym multiple times a week.

They had done so much for him already and he felt like he _owed_ them something in return. Not only that but he _wanted_ to give something back.

He just didn’t know how.

It wasn’t until partway through a half-assed cleaning session in his apartment that it came to him. He had been hoisting his dirty equipment into a laundry basket to take down to the laundromat a block over when an idea sparked in his mind. He pushed the basket aside, that particular task now completely forgotten about, to yank his cellphone from his back pocket and punch in one of the only numbers he knew by heart.

It took a few rings before he got an answer (seeing as it was pretty late in the night), but then Shiro’s deep voice drifted through the receiver, audibly confused as to why his younger brother was calling him out of the blue.

“Keith?”

“Hey,” Keith hops up onto his small counter space and reaches for a soda he had found at the back of his cupboards earlier.

“What is it?” Keith can almost _hear_ the frown Shiro must be sporting, the tiniest hint of concern coating his words. “What’s wrong?”

Keith pulls the tab back with a satisfying crack as he rolls his eyes. “I’m fine, don’t worry. Listen...” He swirls the artificially pink drink around in the can and smiles to himself. “I have an idea.”

* * *

Lance rolls over in bed and lifts an arm to cover his eyes against the early morning light creeping in around his curtains. He is only vaguely aware of the quiet melody drifting out of his phone speakers as consciousness slowly reaches him. Blindly, he reaches for it, his thumb just barely catching the snooze button and returning his room into blissful silence.

Every morning was getting colder with every passing day, proven by how unwelcoming the air outside of his bed feels on the bare skin of his chest. Hiked up to his nose, his blankets seem nearly irresistible, but there’s only one thing stopping him from staying  huddled there until his alarm goes off a second time. And that’s Hunk.

Usually, his roommate is up before him. _Way_ before him. Driven by his need to please and an eagerness unbeknownst to the average human, Hunk is unphased by early rises, not even using an alarm to wake him up at these ungodly hours. Lance needed quite a bit of time to get ready in the morning, so he _made_ himself get up. Hunk, however, was more than happy to be up before the sun, especially for morning practices.

Today, though… there was no clanging of dishes in their kitchen, no chirpy humming through the walls while Hunk showers and dresses, and no wake up call five minutes before Lance’s alarm had the chance to go off. No sign of Hunk being awake at all, really.

With a frown, Lance sits up in bed and listens. Their apartment is completely silent save for the quiet whirring of electronics, and it’s... unsettling. Any other person would relish in the few extra minutes of sleep but Lance knows better, knows what his roommate is like. With much reluctance, he drags himself from the comfort of his warm bed, snagging a sweater from his dresser, and trudges out into the main section of their apartment. He peers around the quiet space, searching for any indication that his roommate has already been up, but there’s nothing. Off to the right Hunk’s door remains closed, something he only does when he’s asleep. Lance tilts his head, confused, and makes way over with his arms held over his chest to protect against the morning chill.

“Hunk,” he calls out softly. No answer. He taps gently on the door and raises his voice slightly. “ _Hunk_.” There’s a muffled hum from beyond the door followed by some rustling but it falls silent shortly afterwards.

Well, this certainly isn’t working.

Lance grips the doorknob and slowly eases it open to reveal his friend, folded up in a mound of blankets, completely dead to the world.

“Dude,” Lance wads to the side of the bed and jostles him lightly, his soft snoring hiccuping with the movement. “Dude, you have to get up.”

It takes a few more shakes, but Hunk slowly uncovers his face and stares up at Lance with groggy eyes. “Lance? Why are you awake?”

Lance quirks a brow at him. “My alarm went off, that’s why. I’m more curious as to why you _aren’t_ awake.”

With a sudden jolt, Hunk flies upright in his bed and grabs his cellphone on the night table, looking down at the bold, white numbers that confirm Lance’s comments. “ _I slept in_?” Hunk, horrified, catapults himself from the bed and launches out into the main room before Lance can react much. A few seconds behind his large friend, Lance stumbles after him while Hunk begins tearing open kitchen cabinets in a frenzy.

Lance yawns. “Apparently.”

“But I _never_ sleep in!” Hunk snatches a bowl from the highest cupboard and aggressively shakes cereal into it.

“Dude,” Lance plops down on one of the stools around their kitchen table, reaching for the discarded box to pick at the cereal from it. “It’s fine - we’ve got plenty of time before we have to leave.”

Not even bothering to waste time fetching the milk, Hunk shovels a few spoonfuls of dry cereal into his mouth and frowns. “You aren’t getting it. I don’t sleep in. I don’t just _not_ get up when I’m supposed to.”

“No, I get it.” Lance shakes the box and peeks inside to find the dried fruits amongst the sea of granola. “I just think you’re freaking out for no reason.”

Hunk sighs, his shoulders drooping with the exhale. “I’m sorry, I know. I guess -” One more sigh, this time accompanied by a shake of his head. “I guess I’m just a little high-strung right now.”

“Yeah, I got that, too.” Lance snorts around  a mouthful of food. “It’s not like you to be like this. Nervous, sure - but not like _this_.”

“I just -” Hunk places his bowl on the counter and runs a hand through his hair. “I can’t seem to calm down. It took me forever to fall asleep last night ‘cause I kept replaying our routine over and over again in my head. I was tired, _so_ tired, but I couldn’t shut off my brain long enough to actually sleep.”

Lance abandons his searching, somewhat satiated, to look at his friend more directly. “What is it about this competition that’s got you so worked up, anyways? I mean, you guys have been to Nationals before so what’s so special this time?”

“I don’t know, honestly…” Hunk groans to himself, picking up his bowl and dropping it into the sink to be dealt with later. “I think it’s partly the routine skill level, partly the _competition’s_ level, partly the pressure to actually place…” He shrugs. “We _have_ been to Nationals before but we’ve never placed. I feel like we’ve got to step it up this year - show that we deserve to be there, you know?”

“Hold on,” Lance leans forward to catch his eye, his gaze earnest. “You can’t actually believe you don’t belong there?” Hunk just blinks at him, not even bothering to respond but Lance can see the answer in his expression. With a shake of his head, Lance rounds the table and squares himself up to his friend’s slumped posture. “You and Pidge can and have skated circles around half the people on _my_ rosters, let alone yours, so that part of it shouldn’t even be on your radar of stress. Also, why would Allura and Shiro give you this opportunity if they didn’t think you could do it?” Hunk starts to look away but Lance steps back into his line of sight, stubborn and unrelenting. “Besides, none of us really care all that much if you place or not. I mean, we’ll be over the fucking moon if you _do,_ but no one’s gonna say anything if you don’t. That’s not what’s important here.”

Hunk seems uncertain, Lance’s words only grazing the surface of his mind. “But... both Allura and Shiro spend so much time preparing us for this…” He drops his gaze to the floor where Lance can’t follow. “It seems like a waste if all of this doesn’t get us _something_ in the end.”

“Then prove yourself wrong.”

Lance stands his ground, eyes fixed sternly at Hunk until he slowly looks up from his feet when the silence pulls on too long, waiting a few seconds longer before he continues.

“If the only thing holding yourself back, telling yourself you can’t do it, is you - then prove yourself wrong.” Lance places a hand on either one of Hunk’s shoulders and grips them firmly. “Win. Take that medal home with you and tell your anxiety to go fuck itself because you _can_ do this.” He pauses to let his words hang there for a few beats then softens his voice. “You can, Hunk. So do it.”

There’s a lull in the air around them as even the humming of the fridge seems to stall while Hunk takes in the moment and Lance’s speech. With his hands still on his shoulders, Lance can feel the tiny hiccup in his friend’s breath, followed by a longer, steadier one as he reaches up to pat at Lance’s arm twice.

“Alright. I’ll... try. I guess.” He stutters.

Lance shakes his head, stubbornly. “No. No guessing. You’re doing this.”

Whether he’s actually starting to believe Lance’s words or he’s just done talking about it, Hunk presses his lips together and nods once. Lance thinks he sees a brief flash of confidence in his friend’s eyes but it’s gone before he can really make anything out, and Hunk smiles gently. “Thanks,” his voices comes out a little weak so he clears his throat and tries again. “Really - thank you.”

“No problem, man.” Lance drops his arms to his side and grins up at him, bright and bold. “I’ve got you.”

“I’m glad.” Hunk’s soft smile grows a little stronger and Lance starts to think all is well once again, but then he’s pointing over Lance’s shoulder towards their bathroom. “But if you’ll excuse me, I think I’m gonna be sick again.”

Lance quickly side steps out of the way and watches Hunk scurry off down the hallway where he hears the door click shut. He raises his voice to be heard and reaches out for the cereal once more. “We leave in thirty, alright?”

There’s a muffled groan of agreement from Hunk’s general direction and it’s all Lance needs, turning on his heel to resume picking through the box.

* * *

There’s a frightening rattle from within the hood of the car as Hunk pulls into a parking space, lining up next to Shiro’s unusually empty spot and Allura’s also vacant one a few spots over. It’s rare that they beat Shiro or Allura here but _both_ is very strange. Hunk pulls the key from the ignition and the beat up old engine wheezes to a stop, tired and overused.

Lance raises a brow at his friend as they unbuckle. “Will you _ever_ get a new car?”

“Why would I do that?” Hunk wrestles their bags from the backseat while Lance pops open the passenger door. “This one works just fine.”

Lance can’t help the roll of his eyes, accepting his bag when Hunk offers it up before making a point of slowly closing the door like it might break off its hinges if swung too hard. “If ‘fine’ means ‘breaks down every other month and is in need of constant repairs’, then yeah, sure - it’s fine.”

“Well if it bothers you _that_ much, then you can take the train to practice in the morning.” Hunk doesn’t give him much time to respond, just hops up onto the curb and heads off towards the main entrance with his bag slung over one shoulder.

Lance jobs lightly to catch up with him. “Hey now, no need to jump to rash decisions!” Lance catches the roll of Hunk’s eyes, ducking through the doorway while he holds it open. “But come on: your car is a piece of shit and you know it.”

“I know no such thing,” Hunk huffs and turns his face away from Lance’s smirking.

The wave of warm air from inside the arena is very welcome as they step inside the quiet lobby, pulling the scarves down from their faces. Lance always prefers the rink like this - still, calm, serene. The electric buzz from crowds is definitely nice but he will take this tranquility over it any day. It’s one of the few benefits of such early practices.

This morning, however, the arena isn’t entirely empty.

By the rink doors, knitted hat pulled low over their head while they tap away at their phone, Pidge stands with a frown on their face.

“Pidge?” Hunk calls out to them and offers a small wave as they grow closer. “You’re here early.”

They look up then, lowering their phone from under their nose. “Unfortunately.”

“What?”

Confused, Pidge tilts their head to the side. “Didn’t you get Shiro’s text?”

“No, I forgot to charge my phone last night so it’s been dead all morning.” Hunk looks to Lance, questioningly. “Did you?”

Lance shakes his head as he reaches back to fish his phone out of his pocket. “Haven’t checked my messages all morning.”

“Well,” they tuck their own phone away and fold their arms over their chest. “He said something about meeting him outside the rink this morning. Told me to ‘be here early’.”

Lance flicks open his lock screen and pulls up his messages, confirming Pidge’s explanation with two unread texts from Shiro. “Shit, you’re right.”

“Doesn’t really matter anyways ‘cause Shiro’s late.” They sigh and rap on the rink doors. “Doors are locked too and he’s not answering any texts either.”

“What do you think he wanted?” Lance tugs down the zipper on his jacket, the extra layers too warm now that he’s inside.

Hunk shrugs and shifts his bag on his shoulder. “Maybe he wants more time to go over our routine? Our competition _is_ only days away.”

“Hmm…” Lance thinks to himself. “I’m not sure about that. He’s not really into last minute practice sessions.”

“You know what,” they hold up a finger suddenly as if they figured it out. “I bet Allura’s behind all of this. She’s always the one scheduling _extra_ early rehearsals claiming they’re ‘good for us’.”

“Well -” a voice drifts over to them, then, smooth and teasing.

They all turn to see both Shiro and Allura crossing the main lobby, the former with a massive duffel bag hoisted onto his back. Allura, whose weight is partially supported by a single crutch, grins at them as they approach the group.

“While early morning practices are certainly something I enjoy - this time it’s not my idea.”

Lance, his confusing only growing at this point, feels like he’s missing a few pieces of the puzzle. Hunk seems to feel similarly, exchanging a frown with him as Pidge fixes their coaches with an annoyed look.

“Didn’t you say we were meeting here _early_?”

Shiro only sighs and side steps them to jiggle a key into the rink’s doors. “I know, I know. We had some supplies to pick up and it took longer than anticipated.”

“Supplies?” Lance watches Allura and Shiro duck past them all and head inside, barely waiting to make sure they’re following along behind them. He looks over at Pidge for some sort of explanation but they just shrug - apparently just as lost as he is - and snag the door before it shuts again. Hunk grabs it from them and gestures for Lance to go ahead, only a few steps behind him.

Shiro deposits the duffel bag down by the boards with a large _thud_ then waves towards a figure on the ice, just barely catching their attention from so far away. Lance squints at them as he slowly approaches the boards himself, leaning around Pidge to get a better look at their now somewhat distinguishable features. It doesn’t take long for him to recognize Keith’s ridiculous mullet, even if it _is_ scooped back into a low ponytail. He pulls in close to the boards by Shiro and Allura.

Lance tries to wrap his head around the current string of events while they chat amongst themselves. It’s not uncommon for Keith to stop by during their rehearsals (it’s actually become pretty routine, really) but it _is_ unusual for him to be here before them or on the ice at all.

Of course, it’s even _more_ unusual for him to be standing grinning at them with a hockey stick in his hand.

“Wha - ?” Lance’s brain seems to be a few steps slower than normal so whatever he was going to say stutters to a halt.

“Welcome,” Shiro smirks boldly as he reaches into the bag and pulls out a pair of large hockey gloves “To your first hockey lesson.”

In front of him, Pidge is practically vibrating with excitement while Hunk leans past Lance to reach for the gloves, a small laugh passing his lips as he does. Lance stares in shock, first at Shiro, then Allura, then finally Keith. They seem to be quite pleased with their reactions, but Keith in particular is painfully smug as he swings the stick in his hand.

“What? Not excited?” Keith chirps far too happily for Lance’s taste.

“I don’t…” Lance pauses to string a sentence together. “What is even _happening_ here?”

“Well - you guys have been pretty worked up lately and the last thing you needed was a stressful last minute practice.” Shiro interjects as he reaches for a second pair of gloves.

“So we’re playing _hockey_ instead?” Lance sputters.

“It was Keith’s idea.” Allura drops down in one of the seats and leans her crutch beside her. “He knew you all needed something to take your minds off of the competition so he offered up his help.”

Lance stares at keith, bewildered and a little in awe, but can’t bring himself to say anything. Keith meets his gaze but quickly looks away, ducking his head in the most uncharacteristically bashful way.

“What?” He shrugs, any hint of smugness completely wiped from his features. “I just didn’t know how else to help.”

Lance can’t help but stare dumbly at Keith while he tries to hide his face from the rest of them but Hunk jumps forward, leaning heavily onto Lance’s back to get closer to the pack of gear by the boards. “Are we actually playing a game?” His eyes sparkle with anticipation and he can barely keep himself from snatching the gloves out of Shiro’s hand. “A _real_ game?”

Keith clears his throat and turns towards them, trying to pull on his bravado once more. “Well, first you guys need to learn how to skate.”

“Skate…?” Lance repeats.

Shiro reaches back into his bag, rummaging for a few seconds before pulling out what looks like a used pair of hockey skates. “You didn’t think we’d deny you the full experience did you?”

Both Hunk and Pidge seem _thrilled_ by the turn of events but Lance can only bring himself to stare in shocked dismay at the ratty skates swinging from Shiro’s hand. HIs gaze slowly slides up to Keith, whose smug grin is back in full force while he leans forward onto the boards with a quirked brow.

“Guess it’s _your_ turn to be the tadpole now, hm?”

* * *

Lance quickly learns that playing hockey is 80% putting on equipment and only 20% actual skating.

Both Keith and Shiro assure that the layers of padding and guards are for their own safety but Lance feels like it’s also partly for their amusement.

“This can’t _actually_ be necessary?” Lance demands as he yanks the second shin guard into place before finally moving onto the skates.

Keith laughs as he watches him fumble. “What would you say if I told you this isn’t all of it?”

“ _You’re kidding_?”

Keith tries to cover his snort of laughter with his hand, shrugging at Lance’s gawking. “This is just the basic stuff, to keep you guys from getting hurt. Believe it or not, there are kids out there who wear more just for practice sessions.”

“How do you even _move_ in all of this?” Lance tightens the laces - something he actually knows how to put on - and shakes his head.

“What?” Keith reaches for Lance’s second skate as he finishes with the first and passes it to him with a smug grin. “Is hockey too difficult for you already?”

Lance rolls his eyes at him, shooting him a glare. “No, it’s just… too bulky.” He tugs it on in one movement, getting work on the laces while Keith snickers away to himself. “Really, though - how hard can it be? It’s just regular skating some sticks and a chunk of rubber.”

“You say that now…” Keith hums.

“Trust me,” Lance tucks away the ends of the laces and pushes himself to his feet. “I’ve been skating for almost as long as I’ve been walking - I think I’ve got this.”

Keith steps away from him, bumping the door in the boards open with his hip before gesturing for Lance to follow . “Let’s get going, then, _Tadpole_.”

Lance ignores his snark (briefly thinking he’s been spending too much time around Pidge) and takes his first step towards the ice. The skates are wider and heavier than his usual ones, but they’re still skates and Lance is still a multiple gold medalist.

Hunk, who barely seems to be phased by the pounds of gear strapped to him, is already gliding around relatively normally across the rink, PIdge on his heels with a little more hesitation. Shiro sticks close to them with hands out to catch them, but they look fine to Lance. Neither one of them seems to be having all that much trouble with the new skates - certainly not like Keith did so many weeks ago.

Lance, not even bothering to brace himself, confidently places one foot onto the ice and flashes Keith a ‘told you so’ smile. It isn’t until he places his full weight onto his foot that the leveled surface of the ice suddenly disappears from under him and he flies backwards, arms windmilling as he goes. His fingers only barely brush the boards but he doesn’t get a good handle on it.

He’s expecting the hard thud of the ice on his back, eyes squeezed shut for the impact, but it never comes. Instead, a pair of hands catch him by the upper arms and he collides with something solid, stopping him mid-fall. There’s a bubble of laughter right next to his ear as Keith’s face leans into his line of sight, upside down from Lance’s perspective.

Keith appraises him, as best he can from this close, with a quirk of his brow. “So -” he tilts his head questioningly. “You still think you got this?”

Lance wants to quip back - he really does - but his brain seems to have stuttered to a screeching halt when the soft of hum Keith’s laughter vibrates against through Lance, his back pressed to Keith’s chest. Lance tries not to stare too blatantly at his face, only inches from his own, but he can’t seem to stop himself. Thankfully, Keith doesn’t seem to notice and just moves to help him up, one hand on his back to keep him steady.

“Didn’t you say that hockey ‘wasn’t that hard’?”

“This,” Lance finally manages, fumbling a little while he struggles to keep his balance. “Is _not_ hockey so shut it.”

“Mhm…” Keith’s smile only grows, a teasing retort only barely held back.

Lance pulls away entirely then, wobbly now that his weight is back on his feet, to fix Keith with a look. “I’m just - I’m getting used to the skates. I’ll be landing my triple axels in no time.”

“Alright, then.” Keith takes a step back, his movements so smooth compared to Lance’s, and gestures for him to follow once more. “Let’s start practicing.”

* * *

It took… and embarrassing length of time before Lance has even remotely adjust to the new skates. Even then, he’d only make it a few feet before he’d lean a little too far back on the blade, arms waving wildly beside him. One time he’d nearly taken Keith down with him but most of the time it would just be Lance, landing hard on his ass with a groan of annoyance.

After a particularly bad wipe out, Pidge decides to zoom in to watch Keith haul Lance back to his feet.

“You know,” They tuck their hands in their pockets and look Lance’s shaky form up and down slowly. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’ve never skated before in your life.”

Lance glares up at them, winded slightly from the effort. “How are _you_ so good at this?”

They shrug. “Dunno - guess I’m a fast learner.”

“This definitely isn’t fair.” Lance takes one more step forward while Pidge and Keith stick close.

“Hey now! The only one of us with any prior experience with hockey is Hunk.” They jab their thumb over their shoulder to where Hunk and Shiro have moved onto what looks like some basic drills. “So if you’re gonna be mad at anyone be mad at him.”

“I”m not mad at you or him,”Lance looks down to his feet in contempt. “I’m mad at these _fucking skates_!”

“Whoa there, don’t take your lack of adaptability out on the skates. It’s not their fault.” Pidge shakes their head.

“Actually…” Keith interjects. “I think you’ll find it a lot easier when you’ve got a stick so just - hold on.” He holds up a hand to them, turning away to skate off towards Shiro and Hunk. He nimbly jumps over a puck as Hunk loses it and waves off his apologies before stopping by the pile of discarded sticks and pucks to snag a few. He’s back before Pidge or Lance can really react, thrusting a stick in both their hands and a puck to Pidge. “Here. Pidge, why don’t you try out some puck handling while bambi here learns to skate again.” Lance gives him his best death glare but Keith only laughs, holding up his hands in defense. “Alright, alright. Just try again, that might help you balance.”

Lance is skeptical but he has little choice but to concede. Hesitantly, he pushes forward with the stick in hand while Keith and Pidge follow along beside him. Now that they’ve got something else to focus on, Pidge is a little more unsure on their feet, guiding the puck along with small flicks of their wrist. Lance, on the other hand, finds that Keith was right: it’s easier now. While it feels strange in his hands and he isn’t completely certain where or how to hold it, the added point of contact with the ice helps Lance keep his balance. His shock must be pretty obvious, based on Keith’s small laugh but Lance is too relieved to care, shooting him a bright smile that’s equal parts excitement and pride. There’s a small hiccup in Keith’s composure, just a blip of an expression Lance can’t name, before he’s clearing his throat and nodding off ahead of them.

“Keep going, then.”

 

While it may be easier, Lance still has to focus most of his attention on staying upright, and the conversation falls flat until Pidge takes over, tagging along beside them with relative ease.

“Where did you guys even get all of this stuff, anyways?” They gesture around the rink before looking to Keith.

“The receptionists at my team’s rec centre owed us a few favours.” He shrugs, tossing the spare puck he grabbed in the air as he talks. “Plus, now that we’re headed off to Nationals, everyone’s more than happy to help us out. You know, good publicity or whatever.”

Pidge briefly looks off to the two beat-up nets resting on either end of the rink then down at their gear. “So they just lent you all of this stuff? Just like that?”

“Pretty much.” Pidge seems unconvinced so he sighs. “Okay so I might have brought Allura along to help convince them. She’s scary when she needs to be.”

“We know.” Pidge and Lance respond in unison, sharing an empty-eyed look.

“I figured,” Keith laughs under his breath before continuing on as they round one end of the ice in a slow curve. “Anyways - they rented us everything but the gear. Shiro called up some friends for that and the skates; he had some pretty good connections from his hockey days, way more than I have now, at least. And thanks to Allura and Shiro, we knew what sizes to get so I hope they fit alright.”

Pidge scrapes the stick along the ice to scoop the puck into the air briefly and shrugs. “It’s hard to tell, honestly. They’re definitely a little weird but they’re not uncomfortable so I guess they fit well?”

“Speak for yourself!” Lance awkwardly leans onto his stick when his weight shifts too far forward, gripping it tightly with both hands. “I feel like I’m wearing bricks for skates.”

“Welcome to my life,” Keith adds dryly. “It was stupidly difficult to skate with your dainty skates at first.”

“Well, at least with figure skating we don’t have fifty pounds of extra equipment you need to haul around with you.” Lance retorts.

Keith raises a brow at him. “I think fifty pounds is a bit of an exaggeration.”

“Lance’s dramatics shouldn’t be a surprise anymore, Keith.” Pidge rolls their eyes at him.

Lance shoots them a dark look, next. “Says the person who made and fired a confetti cannon for an entry level recital.”

Pidge blatantly ignores his comment and continues to address Keith. “During Provincials, I saw you move the puck with the back of your stick but I can’t figure out how you do it - it keeps slipping away from me when I try.”

They demonstrate this, movements jerky and unpolished, but Keith just catches the puck with the side of his skate when it fumbles off of their stick before answering. “It mainly takes practice - although it’s sometimes easier when you’ve got some momentum going. Here, watch.” He holds out his hand for their stick and scoops up the puck with ease. He does a quick half-loop of the rink, zigzagging the pick in front of him with such fluidity that Lance begins to wonder how Keith ever struggled during their lessons. That is, of course, until he remembers how different the clunky skates strapped to his feet are from their own and a tiny bud of sympathetic understanding nestles in his chest.

Keith slides to a stop in front of them with a satisfying scrape and returns the puck and stick to Pidge’s waiting hands. “See?” Keith pushes the hair back from his face and grins. “You wanna give it a shot?” Pidge’s eyes light up and they nod enthusiastically, like a bobblehead on the dashboard of a car, which pulls another laugh out of Keith. He turns to Lance briefly while Pidge clings to the fabric of his sleeve. “Mind if I help them out for a bit?”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll be _fine_ ,” Lance drawls. “You two go off and play, just know that if you hear someone scream, it’s probably because I impaled myself on my stick.”

“Sounds good.” Obviously taking Pidge’s advice, Keith ignores his theatrics and flashes him a quick thumbs up before veering off to the centre of the ice with Pidge hot on his heels.

Pidge may have caught on faster than Lance (something he’s reluctant to admit out loud), but they pale in comparison to Keith. All of them do. Even in the few seconds it took them to cover that length of the rink, Lance can see the differences. They hesitate slightly with every step, slow and calculating, as if they’re reminding themselve of what the next action is going to be. It’s a small difference, especially to the average person, but Lance has been watching Pidge skate for years now and they can’t fool him _that_ easily.

Even Hunk is a little clumsy. He’s definitely better than both Pidge and Lance, there’s no denying that. His large build must lend well to the sport, Lance decides. Across the rink, Hunk squares up against Shiro, stick in hand as he grins, and charges full speed towards his coach. However, that’s where his inexperience seems to come into play. While he may be a lumbering tank of a guy who could easily wrestle the puck away from someone through sheer force alone, he lacks refined skill. Which is something Shiro seems to be overflowing with.

Much like his younger brother, Shiro is smooth in his every movement, side stepping past Hunk and deftly flicking the puck into the net in seconds flat. Even from this distance, Lance can tell that his footwork is impeccable (something he wonders if he got from figure skating or if he really was this nimble in his hockey days, too) and his control on the ice is blaringly obvious to even the most unobservant of people. Beside him, Hunk can barely keep his eyes on the puck long enough to notice that it’s left Shiro’s stick and soared into the top corner of the net, confusion settling on his face for a few seconds before he realizes what’s happened. Shiro slaps him once on the back with a chirpy laugh while Hunk bashfully rubs the back of his neck. True to his nature, Shiro immediately jumps in with some corrections to Hunk’s form and movements, gentle and supportive in tone, which the latter accepts eagerly with a nod of his head. They quickly reset and move into another drill, this time with Hunk guiding the puck towards the net.

There’s a soft rap on the boards beside him and Lance all but jumps out of his skin, yanked roughly out of his thoughts with a quiet yelp.

“Oh!” Allura pulls her hand back when he starts. “I’m sorry, Lance - I didn’t mean to scare you!”

Lance presses his own hand against his racing heartbeat in his chest. “No, no it’s, uh, it’s fine. I was just… a little too focused, I guess.”

“I’m assuming hockey skates have a learning curve, then.” She leans forward on her elbows with a smirk.

“Don’t _you_ start with that, now!” He sighs and throws his head back. “It’s not as easy as it looks, okay!”

“Oh, I’m very much aware.” She laughs quietly with a wave of her hand. “Shiro convinced me to try it out years ago and I was not very good either. There certainly is a part of me that’s glad I’m not a part of this today.”

Lance frowns at her, grabbing a hold of the boards more steadily before continuing. “Why _aren’t_ you skating with us, by the way? How are you allowed to escape this cruel and unusual torture but we have no choice?”  
“Well, I could just say ‘I’m your coach so I don’t _have_ to do anything’ and leave it at that…” She pauses with a smile while Lance stares at her deadpan. Eventually she sighs and waves off towards Shiro and Hunk, still wrestling over the pick. “Shiro and I both agreed that I should take my last few days of healing easy so I can be fully present during the competition.”

“Mhm,” Lance hums as he squints at her, not believing her façade. “See, you _say_ that but let’s be honest here: how much is it killing you that you can’t be on the ice right now?”

“ _So much_ .” Allura droops in front of him with a drop of her shoulders, hanging her head low enough for her hair to lay across the boards. “I haven’t been able to skate in _weeks_ and it is incredibly aggravating. I know what my limits are and I will not push myself past them but I feel like I’ve been a terribly useless coach.”

Lance pats her consolingly on the arm and she looks up slowly. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m also pretty useless right now. These skates are _killing_ me!”

Allura fixes him with a stern look. “How do you think Keith felt during his lessons? And he did this for six weeks not just a few hours.” Lance drops his gaze when confronted by her glare but she continues on, gesturing off onto the rink. “Besides, if I’m honest, something tells me all of this isn’t for you.”

Lance frowns and follows her eyes across the ice to where Keith and Pidge are, puck slowly passing between them. Keith seems amused (either at everyone’s lack of experience or at the actual activity, Lance isn’t sure) but Pidge - _God_ , Pidge looks ecstatic. That hyperactive nervous fixation they’ve been carrying with them for the past few days had disappeared, replaced instead with a hiccupy laugh that Lance knows is reserved for when they’re: A) very drunk or B) very happy. And, seeing as there is no alcohol in sight, he’s pretty certain of its cause.

Further down one end of the rink, Hunk and Shiro have moved onto some more precise drills geared towards footwork. They maneuver in and around lines of pucks with the ends of their sticks never leaving the ice before snagging the last puck in line and flicking it into the net. Hunk _almost_ hits the third puck in line but with an impressive amount of agility that does not match his size, he twirls away from it and hooks the puck into the top left hand corner of the net. Shiro claps loudly, broad grin welcoming him as Hunk loops around the back of the net with ease. He accepts Shiro’s high five and squares his shoulders in pride, not a hint of anxiety or nausea in sight.

“I guess not,” Lance notes with fondness in his voice. “I don’t think I mind, though.”

“Still,” Allura pulls his attention back with one loud clap against the boards. “Even if it isn’t for you, maybe you should get back to practice. Maybe it will even help your figure skating - you never know.”

Lance rolls his eyes and scoffs loudly at that. “Yeah, I doubt that.”

Allura, clearly very unimpressed, stares deadpan at him and folds her arms over her chest. “Lance.”  
There are few occasions in which Lance can get away with being so snarky with Allura so he takes full advantage of it, leaning back to look at her more full and mimicking her posture and expression.

“Allura.”

Her eyes narrow slightly but there’s a hint of playfulness in her gaze when she pushes him away from the boards. “Go on.”

Lance laughs as he tries to regain his balance, only barely catching himself before he can face plant into the ice. “Alright, alright. Try not to miss me too much.”

“I will survive, _somehow_.” She retorts sarcastically, turning away from the boards to cut towards Shiro’s side of the rink. He watches her weave through the seats for a few seconds, reclaiming his place along the boards so he has something to grab if he falls, then focuses back on his movements.

While the stick helps him balance, there’s still so much difference between these skates and his usual figure skates. He’s not used to being uneasy on the ice, honestly. It’s been a second home to him for many years so to feel completely out of place and unsure on his rink is a very foreign feeling. Although he will say that it’s slowly starting to get easier - something he’s incredibly grateful for after the embarrassing amount of wipe outs he’s experienced in the past hour. He’s marginally steadier, far less frustrated than he was at the start, and feeling a little more confident in this bulky wardrobe.

 

That is - until Keith appears out of nowhere and slams his shoulder aggressively into Lance’s, nearly flipping him over the boards. There’s a few seconds of flailing on Lance’s part after his ribcage takes the brunt of the blow before Keith snags him by the collar and yanks him back up.

“What the -” Lance groans loudly and rubs at his now _very sore_ side. He’ll definitely have a bruise tomorrow morning. “What was that for?”

“Sorry! Sorry!” Keith keeps a hand on Lance’s shoulder to steady him, holding onto him for a few seconds longer before he lets go. “I forgot there’s no glass on these boards for a second. Are you alright?”

Lance prods his ribs gently to inspect the damage; it’s tender but it’s nothing serious, that much is for sure.

 

Although _Keith_ doesn’t yet know that….

 

“I don’t know…” Lance winces dramatically. “Something feels broken.”

Keith sputters in shock with his eyebrows furrowed in confusion and surprise. “ _What_ ? That was only at, like, ten percent strength! How did I _break_ something?”

 

 _Ten_ . _Percent_.

Lance’s brain briefly short circuits while trying to process how _that_ was only ten fucking percent of Keith’s overall strength. If that was ten percent, he feels bad for any of Keith’s opponents who have ever received one hundred percent. Even Bokar, who Lance is pretty sure gets one hundred and twenty percent strength.

Although that isn’t the only reason his mind is currently lagging, but he will _not_ go into the other reasons in fear of encouraging them.

 

He shakes off his stupid and shrugs at Keith’s shock, trying his best to hide his internal stutter. “Honestly - I really think you fucked up my ribs.”

“Oh my god,” Keith’s face blanches and he grabs hold of Lance’s shoulders once more to stare at him in earnest regret with a small pinch of panic. “Shit. I’m sorry oh my god - I didn’t think I hit you that hard!” He looks around the rink with wide eyes, possibly looking for help. “Do we - do we go to the hospital? Are you hurt enough to see a doctor? I don’t kno--”

Lance can’t hold in his snickering any longer and pulls a hand up to cover his mouth as he snorts loudly and unattractively behind it in response to Keith’s flustered state. Keith, cut off mid-sentence, whips his head back to stare at him incredulously, mouth agape.

“This is _not_ funny, Lan--” He pauses, then, understanding finally washing over him, and shoves Lance roughly. “You’re _kidding_ me! What the fuck, Lance, I was _worried_!”

His quiet giggling evolves into a full on fit of laughter now that Keith has caught on and he clutches at his stomach, bending over at the waist to learn against the boards.

“Hey!” Keith buffs his arm with a pulled punch but Lance really can’t help himself.

“Oh my god,” Lance wheezes. “As if you thought I had broken something!”

Keith folds his arms over his chest and turns away from Lance, offended and brooding. “Well _excuse me_ for trying to be a good friend.”

Lance picks his head up, stifling his laughter as best he can, and notes Keith’s pout and slight blush. He eases in closer (with little wobbling) and drawls out his words teasingly. “Come on - you gotta admit that it was a _little_ funny.”

Keith keeps his face turned away, stubbornly refusing to meet Lance’s eye. “I don’t have to admit anything.”

Lance is seconds away from poking him jokingly in the side to just watch that grumpy pout pull up into the grin he sees just barely under the surface, when Shiro’s voice carries over to them from across the rink.

“Guys!” They both turn to look in his direction, pulled out of their private moment, to spot him waving widely at them. “Come here for a second!”

Lance has a bad feeling about this but Pidge and Hunk practically launch themselves at Shiro’s feet so he knows he’d be dragged into it even if he refused. Reluctantly, he begins his slow voyage to his coach’s side, with Keith close behind him.

“Hey,” Keith’s face ducks into his line of sight, eyebrows lifted in genuine concern. “Are you... _actually_ okay? Like, you’re sure you’re not hurt?”

Lance waves his hand in Keith’s face. “Don’t insult me, Keith. It takes way more than that to put me out of commission. It’s probably just a bruise, _if_ that - I’m fine.”

“Good.” Keith nods once before flipping around in front of him to skate backwards a few feet ahead. “Now pick up the pace, Tadpole. We’ll all be in nursing homes by the time you reach Shiro.”

Lance fixes him with a glare that tells him ‘don’t push it’ but Keith only laughs and takes off to join the rest of the group before him, clearly not taking Lance seriously. It takes a few extra seconds of unsteady skating before Lance slides in beside Pidge, who he grips for stability.

“....So -” Shiro’s words float over to Lance now that they’re audible, continuing on mid-sentence. “If you’re all up to it - I was thinking we should try playing an actual game.”

 

It was in that moment that Lance wishes he had never left the safety of his bed that morning.

 

“ _A game_?” Pidge, who Lance had been using as balance, all but bounces in place beside him with elation clear on their face. To their left, Hunk seems just as excited, eyes sparkling while Pidge starts to cling to his arm and shake it enthusiastically.

Panic and regret heavy in his chest, Lance clears his throat. “Um,” he fumbles for an excuse when Shiro turns to him so he looks between the group, gesturing at all of them. “But, we don’t have enough people for equal teams?”

Shiro shrugs. “I was thinking we could do three versus two with me and Keith against the three of you.”

“I’M IN.” Pidge hops into the centre of the group to shake at Shiro’s arm now. “LET’S GO.”

Hunk seems to have let his competitiveness take over him and he turns to narrow his eyes at Keith, squaring up his shoulders to make his already looming physique somehow appear larger. “You are going _down_ , Kogane.”

“Shiro, please,” Lance pleads as he holds up his hands into a prayer position. “We could just -- keep practicing. We don’t need to do this, really.”

“Well, y’know,” Shiro raises his brows at him. “The fastest way to learn is by doing. We might as well go for it.”

Lance, with few other options, turns to Keith with desperation in his eyes and mouths ‘ _help me_ ’. Keith purses his lips as if thinking then turns to Shiro with a shrug. “Why not? I’m game.”

“Keith!” Lance throws his hands up and resists the urge to grab ahold of Keith’s shoulders to shake him wildly.

Pidge jumps in with a grin, spinning in a delicate circle with a smug smile on their lips. “Majority rules, Lance. You lose.”

“But - !” Lance flails desperately to catch Shiro’s attention again before he can come to a final conclusion. “Keith checked me and now I’m - you’ve got to let me sit out.”

At this point, no one seems to be listening, especially not Shiro. Pidge and Hunk have took off after him to remove the spare sticks and pucks from the ice with a skip in their step. Lance huffs out an annoyed sigh and groans to himself as he drags his hands down his face.

“What?” Keith ducks in front of his face with a smirk that Lance only barely sees between his fingers. “Two minutes ago you were ‘fine’ but now you’re too injured to play a simple game of hockey?”

 _This guy_ . Lance glares darkly at him, unamused by his teasing. “This is _so_ not funny.”

“You sure?” Keith winks ( _winks_!) and moves in beside him to check him lightly, just a small bump of their shoulders that barely jostles Lance. “Not even a little?”

“Not even a little,” he repeats monotonically as he allows Keith to literally push him toward centre ice where the rest of the group have gathered.

“What is it?” Keith effortlessly moves Lance, like he’s a sack of feathers, with two hands pressed firmly into his back. “You scared I’ll beat you?”

 _That_ sparks the competitiveness that lay dormant in Lance’s chest and he looks over his shoulder to catch Keith’s eye. “Not a chance.”

Keith stops them about a metre short of the others and laughs to himself when he pulls away, shaking his head at Lance’s sudden change of attitude. Lance tries not to pay attention to how his hands seemed to linger just slightly longer than necessarily on his back while Keith moves in front of him, skating backwards towards centre ice.

“Prove it, then.”

Lance _also_ tries not to let his mind wander too far on all the possible ways that he could do just that when Keith turns his back to him and slips in beside his brother. Lord knows he fails miserably but he tries nevertheless.

* * *

 

As he would shortly discover, Lance would not, in fact, prove it.

 

Hunk, Pidge, and him were being completely and utterly demolished by the two brothers. The scoreboard, which had been under Allura’s supervision, was scrapped several goals ago and Lance is incredibly thankful for it. There was no way they could win or even _tie up_ the game at this point so why even keep score? When Shiro and Keith’s collective skill is as high as it is, no level of outnumbering could stop them. They seem to be exactly where the other needs at exactly the right time and Lance begins to wonder if them being raised together has more influence on that than them being ex-teammates. After an embarrassing amount of goals, Lance accepts that it’s probably a combination of both. Which definitely isn’t fair.

For the first little while, Pidge and Hunk had left Lance in the net - not only because he was essentially useless on these skates, but also because none of them wanted to leave it unattended. Shiro and Keith had chosen to the take the risk that quickly became undeniably clear wasn’t actually a risk at all. Even when Lance was pulled into the actual game, it made no difference. They were losing one way or another.

Although they weren’t _complete_ failures throughout the game - both Hunk and PIdge had scored at least once. Hunk’s goal was pretty impressive honestly, including a rather rough check to put Shiro out of the way and some agile footwork around Keith. Neither Shiro nor Hunk seemed too bothered (seeing as they were still winning) but Lance caught the slight flare of competitiveness in their expressions before they geared up for the next face off.

Pidge’s goal was slightly less physical and more technical and sneaky. They had waited until Hunk had dove after Shiro, shoving him roughly out of the way, and Keith had paused to tease Lance for his skills before they snagged the puck and lobbed it past all of them. Lance had been the first to notice, whooping loudly as Pidge smugly crossed back to their side of the rink where they were greeted by a firm group hug and some shocked expressions from their opponents.

Regardless of how cool their few goals were, the three of them were still losing. By a lot.

After one particularly pathetic attempt to stop Keith’s race towards their net, Lance pauses to lean forward on his knees and catch his breath. The puck is already in the net so there is no point in chasing him all the way there.

“When -” Lance wheezes in between gulps of breath. “When is this over?”

Shiro slides in beside him and whacks him firmly between the shoulder blades. “Why? Are you getting tired?”

“ _Yes_.”

Shiro barks out a bold laugh as he adjusts his gloves. “Well, we can be done whenever you want at this point. I don’t think there’s any real reason to play a full game’s length.”

“Oh thank God,” Lance stands upright and yanks his helmet from his head. “We’re done, then! Goodbye!”

“Hey! Hey!” Pidge flies into view, a competitive gleam bright in their eyes. “It’s not over yet! Let’s keep going!”

Lance presses a hand to their face and slides them a few feet away so he can trudge past them to the boards. “No thanks. _You_ can keep playing but I am one hundred percent done.”

“Laaaannnnce,” they whine after him but Lance has already put enough space between the two of them for Pidge to be able to snag him by the arm so he doesn’t bother answering. They huff loudly at his back. “Fine. We’ll just play a two on two game, then.”

“Uh…” Keith’s voice jumps in, then, reaching Lance just as he steps off of the ice. “Actually… make that two on one. I think I’m good for the day.”

Shiro looks at him, confused. “You’re turning down the chance to _win_ _a game_? Okay - who are you and what have you done with my little brother?”

“We’ve already won, Shiro.” Keith reminds him with a smile before pushing away from the group slightly. “Besides, a two on one will be good for you - you could use the practice.”

Even from his place across the rink, Lance can see his coach visibly sputter, jaw slack with an expression that says he’s both impressed and offended at the same time. Keith, with his back now to his brother, waves a hand over his shoulder and glides smoothly towards Lance.

“Giving up already?” He asks as he steps past the boards and drops into the seat to his left.

“‘Giving up’!” Lance exclaims as he looks at him dead in the eye. “It’s been almost _two hours_! How is that ‘giving up’?”

Keith holds up his hands and shakes his head. “Whoa, whoa - I’m just teasing!” He leans forward on his knees, turning his head to look up at Lance, who only frowns back at him. “You’re not half bad, you know. You caught on pretty quickly.”

“Yeah, right.”

“No, really!” Keith insists. “I’m serious - you had pretty good control over the puck when you weren’t panicking about someone knocking you off your feet. And your balance has seriously improved after only a couple of hours of skating. Maybe hockey is for you after all?”

Lance rolls his eyes and yanks his gloves off roughly. “Don’t know if I agree. This whole experience was like a sledge hammer to my self confidence.”

“Oh don’t even start with that,” Keith watches Lance toss the gloves to the ground. “Do you not remember how awful _I_ was during my first lesson? And I definitely didn’t catch on as quickly as you did so cut yourself some slack, alright?”

Lance spares a glance at Keith after that. He doesn’t look away when Lance meets his gaze and doesn’t cover up the soft edge in his eyes that make Lance’s breath catch in his throat. He feels like Grendel - mortally wounded and left to die all thanks to Keith’s _stupid_ , caring face. Lance tries to gather himself while his erratic heartbeat mocks him with every heavy thud. “W-well,” he clears his throat and moves his attention onto the padded elbow pads. “Thanks, uh, I guess.”

A hand reaches out to still Lance’s that fumbles over the velcro straps and Lance is forced to meet Keith’s eyes once more. “Just -- wait a second on that. There’s still time left before practice is over.” He guides Lance’s hand away, and drops it on the armrest.

“If you’re implying what I think you’re implying,” Lance narrow his eyes. “You can forget it.”

Keith only shrugs. “We’ll see. Just give it a bit.”

There’s a lull of silence where Keith leans back in his seat and raises his arms above his head to stretch out the stiffness in his back, removing his own gloves towards the end of the movement. Lance reluctantly readjusts the velcro on his padding and ignores the smirk Keith shoots him. Out on the ice, Shiro tries to dart between Hunk and Pidge but they seem to be more of a challenge to him now that he’s alone and Lance is enjoying the sight. He wonders how much hockey practice Shiro has had since he left his team. If he’s as out of practice as Keith implied, what kind of player was he when he was in his prime? He’ll admit that he’s a little upset that he’ll never see it.

“Is this what most practices are usually like?” Lance nods his head out to the ice where Shiro loses the puck to a grinning Pidge who quickly takes off towards the net. “Minus the part where we hobbled around on the ice like newborn deer.”

Keith purses his lips in thought. “Depends on the practice, to be honest. We don’t play practice games all that often, just ‘cause they don’t really offer much to us in terms of skill development. They’re useful if we need to learn how to implement a new drill into real time hockey but otherwise we focus on more specific things, like footwork or stickhandling.”

“I guess we weren’t good enough for those drills, then?” He jokes.

Keith peers over to him with a raised eyebrow. “There’s some easy ones if you want to give it a shot.”

“No, no,” Lance waves his hand in the air, backpedalling. “That’s fine. Really, I’m okay.”

“How about just some basic skating? No drills - just straight up skating.”

Lance grimaces slightly and leans back in his seat. “I don’t know… I’m - I’m kind of…”

“Lance.” Keith’s voice is soft, no more teasing edge following each word, and Lance can’t keep himself from looking up to it with curiosity. Keith stares back at him and breathes in deeply before continuing in a hushed voice. “I don’t… I don’t really want this to end so can we…?”

It’s strange… Seeing Keith like that. Timid and uncertain, like he’s treading on ice so thin that even the lightest of breaths will send them toppling into freezing water that bites at their skin and steals their breath. He’s asking permission, begging for something that Lance would give if he knew what it is. Why is he so careful? Why are they so timorous? What threshold are they standing that has them both so scared of what lies beyond it? Lance can feel himself lean over it, the tip of his nose, the rise of his shoulders, the slow curve of his chest tempting fate over the abyss of that frigid ocean. He wants to let himself drop, revel in the free fall until he breaks through the surface at last - if only to see what’s on the other side.

But then he’s pulling back. Chest, shoulders, nose drawn back to safety where there’s no cracking ice, no gelid waters to drag him down to where there is no light and where there is no warmth. What else was there to do but sink? Why even explore the depths when he’ll only drown?

 

Keith seems to only then realize the silence that has fallen over them, eyes widening slightly and sitting back into his chair while he rubs at the back of his neck. “I mean, uh -” he shrugs, nonchalantly. “It’s fine. Nevermind.”

 

But, _God_ does Lance want to knows what’s beyond the edge.

 

“Oh - !” Lance starts, a little louder than he planned, and Keith’s eyes snap up to him in surprise. Lance tries again, clearing his throat first. “It’s - I’m alright to…. Keep going. I-If you want to, of course.”

Keith frowns, like Lance is messing with him. “Really?”

Lance reaches down to scoop up one of the gloves he threw away earlier and tugs one on, his thumb getting stuck in with his index finger and forcing him to awkwardly readjust it. Eventually, he raises his arm to show off his now gloved hand, wiggling his fingers in Keith’s face. “Sure, why not?” Keith essentially flies from his seat, on his feet in seconds flat to snatch Lance’s second glove off the ground and toss it to him. “Well clearly you don’t need any convincing.” Lance fumbles with the glove, laughing at Keith’s enthusiasm all the while.

“Say what you want,” Keith rolls his eyes and hops onto the ice to stand on the opposite side of the boards. “But _you_ were the one who changed his mind so quickly.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lance waves away his comments, pulling himself to his feet and hobbling over to the edge of the rink. “Just get moving, Mullet Head.”

* * *

Keith wasn’t lying when he said Lance isn’t that bad of a hockey skater.

He’s definitely not as agile as he is on his own skates but he’s also not as much of a useless sack of weight like Keith was during _his_ lessons (something Keith is reluctant to admit out loud). Of course, Keith isn’t asking him to jump or spin in them so it might not be a fair comparison.

Even without his stick - which Keith had him leave in the stands - Lance is pretty steady in his movements. There are a few hiccups every now and again where he’d wobble in place, arms flapping while he straightens himself out and rejects all of Keith’s offers to help. It doesn’t last long and he usually recovers just fine but Keith can’t say that he doesn’t find this endlessly entertaining.

After a few minutes of idle conversation, they fall into a quiet lull. The only sounds between them come from their blades on the ice and their friends across the rink - but it’s not an uncomfortable silence. Neither one of them is forcing themselves to talk or continue a conversation, and it feels only natural.

Keith notices, however, Lance’s focused expression slowly morph into something more pensive and contemplative. He doesn’t say anything - but Keith can see the struggle in the furrowed line of his brow, like he’s trying to decide whether he should or shouldn’t say something.

“You alright?” Keith ducks his head slightly to catch Lance’s eye.

He looks up to him, pulled suddenly from own thoughts, and seems to realize that his internal conflict wasn’t as internal as he thought. “Uh, yeah - I’m fine. I just - You know…” Lance drops his eyes down to his feet, as if purposefully avoiding Keith’s gaze, and continues with a voice that is uncharacteristically timid. “I never really… _apologized_ to you.”

It’s Keith’s turn to frown then, swivelling around in front of of him to try to catch even a glance of his face that Lance quickly ducks further down to focus on his steps instead. Keith folds his arms over his chest and continues to follow in front of Lance. “Apologized? For what?”

“Well…” Lance shrugs and purses his lips, obviously still struggling with what to say. There’s a brief moment where Lance reminds Keith of Tia, stubborn and unyielding, but then he’s talking again. “I wasn’t always… the nicest person in the world. To you, I mean.”

Keith blinks dumbly at him before easing himself into a slow curve along the boards behind the net. “I don’t think -”

There’s a flash of Lance’s face, blank, uncaring, and closed off, staring back at him with unrelenting apathy. Then it’s his back, the silhouette fading out of sight while his words hang heavily in the air.

_You don’t know me at all so stop acting like you’ve got me figured out._

 

“Ah,” Keith, too drops his gaze. “That.”

 

_Leave. Me. Alone._

 

Lance pauses in front of him and Keith watches the edge of his blade scrape against the ice. “Yeah…”

He’s not wrong. Lance was a pretty huge jerk when they first met. Keith still isn’t all that sure what brought on that hostility _or_ what he did to win Lance over but his enmity hasn’t been wiped from Keith’s mind.

“But… yeah. Anyways -” Lance shifts his weight a little too far back and wobbles a bit, his arms wind milling as he tries to stay upright. Keith manages to snag his forearm and pull him forward again, rewarded with a small nod of thanks from Lance. He can’t hold his gaze for long though, returning his eyes back to the ice.

Keith sighs and lets go of his arm to start skating again, this time at a much slower pace. “You definitely were a bit of an ass in the past -” Lance winces like he’s been struck and Keith frowns, continuing on in a softer tone “- and it wasn’t the _nicest_ way to get to know someone.”

“Really, though. I’m -” Lance pauses to search for a word that seems to be just beyond his reach but gives up with a droop of his shoulders. “I’m sorry. Honestly. I get why you’d be mad.”

Keith nods and watches Lance’s posture stiffen even more, apprehensive and scared, but Keith only shrugs. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Lance’s hand finds Keith’s sleeve and yanks them both to an abrupt stop, staring at him in shock. “You’re-” He searches Keith’s face for something, eyes hesitant when he continues. “You’re not mad?”

“Well I mean - I was.” Keith stares back at him in confusion. “Really, Lance, it’s fine.”

Lance shakes his head, fingers still clinging to Keith’s sleeve. “But I was… I was so awful to you?”

For some reason, Lance can’t quite see why Keith could or would forgive him. Sure, he had been a real ass to him - a few times for literally no reason - but Lance’s actions since then seem to imply that he’s sorry, that things have changed between them. Keith had essentially let go of any hostility or anger he had felt towards Lance a long time ago. He isn’t sure how Lance could think otherwise.

“Lance. You made a mistake.” even Keith feels his expression turn gentle, then. Lance notices it, Keith knows this, but he continues despite the catch of breath in his throat. “But I can’t and won’t blame you for that - you’re only human, after all.” A few beats of silence pass between them but Keith refuses to look away. Lance, eyes wide and lips parted slightly, seems surprised - like he had expected Keith to come after him for some comments he made months ago. Keith frowns and eases half an inch closer. “What… what did you think I’d say?”

Keith wonders if he imagines the small step Lance takes in his direction. Or if he’s imagine Lance’s fingers reach up to only brush his wrist. Is there a flicker of something else in his dazed expression, something _more_?

Before he can figure out the answers, Lance is pulling away. Whatever barely-there touch he thought he felt is gone and he isn’t even certain it was there in the first place.

“Sorry,” Lance mumbles. “I’m just… I’m not used to people forg-” He cuts himself off, rubbing at the back of his neck and gesturing out to where Hunk and Shiro seem to be showing Pidge the basics of offense. “Can we - uh - join the rest of the group again?”

He looks over to his brother who seems to have called off the two on one game when he and Lance weren’t paying attention, then back to Lance who seems to be pleading for Keith to agree. Confused, Keith can’t help the deep frown pulling over his expression. “Sure…”

They make their way over in silence, not nearly as comfortable as it was before, while Keith tries to make sense of the mess of thoughts in his mind. They make it only a few feet when Lance speaks up.

“Thank you.” His voice is sincere, vulnerable, and Keith can hear the hints of raw emotion coating the edges of his words. Keith steals a glance in his direction to meet his eyes more directly. To say he can’t read the expression on Lance’s face is an understatement. Keith feels even more lost looking at the echoes of hurt lining the slopes of his features than he did a few seconds ago. Lance continues on with a small smile. “Really. I don’t know if I deserve it but thank you.”

 _Don’t deserve it_? Keith opens his mouth to reply (not quite sure what he’s going to say but when has that ever stopped him?) when Pidge’s voice cuts him off.

“I thought you were done for the day?” They meet the two of them halfway down the rink, Shiro and Hunk not far behind them.

Keith, sparing Lance one last lingering look, turns to them with a shrug. “I got bored.”

“So we’re back to three on two?” Hunk leans over Pidge and peers at Keith and Lance excitedly.

“Not that bored.” He holds up a hand to stop Hunk’s train of thought.

Shiro drops his hand onto the two disappointed skaters’ shoulders and jumps in. “Actually it’s about time we start our cool down so I’m calling it quits for the day.”

“What?” Pidge whines, spinning out of his grip to face their coach. “Shiro, _no_.”

“Shiro, yes.” Keith can hear the small twinge of Shiro’s sarcastic older brother tone creeping into his response and he has to actively keep himself from chuckling at it. Shiro fixes Pidge with a firm look. “You have a huge competition in a matter of days, Pidge. I won’t risk you getting hurt over something that can easily be avoided so get to stretching.”

Pidge huffs angrily in response but doesn’t put up a fight when Hunk grabs ahold of them and slowly leads them off to the edge of the rink. Shiro laughs at their retreating figures before turning to face Keith and Lance with a warm smile.

“So?” He rests his hands on his hips and looks at them expectantly - although most of his attention is on Lance at this point. “How was that?”

Lance, looking completely unimpressed, stares unwavering back at his coach. “Hell.”

“Oh, come on.”

“I will not ‘come on’!” Lance retorts. “I want these devil skates off of my feet and I want to be back to jumping triple loops like none of this ever happened.”

Shiro looks at him skeptically. “Mhm… So you’re saying you hated _all_ of this? You didn’t enjoy _any_ of it?”

There’s a break in Lance’s response, his initial reflex answer that was ready on his tongue is cut off after barely a syllable. Keith tries to not let his curiosity get the better of him by resisting the urge to watch Lance silently deliberate before he finally continues.

“No. I’m - I didn’t hate all… of it.”

Keith’s curiosity wins. He looks over, the movement only the smallest turn of his chin, but he can’t see much with Lance’s nose aimed pointedly at his feet. Keith tries to dissect the emotions in his features from the small glimpse he’s given while, across from them, Shiro watches with a smirk.

“Well then,” Shiro nods once before moving to hook an arm over Keith’s shoulders, grin never fading. “That’s good to hear, at least. Now - you go cool down with Hunk and Pidge while me and Keith clean up.”

Lance’s snark returns in the blink of an eye and it’s as if nothing happened. “If that means I can tear off this gear then you’ve got it!”

He takes off after his friends, ditching Keith to his overly clingy brother who cups a hand over his mouth to call after him. “Make sure to stretch and cool down first!” Lance acknowledges his instructions with a brief wave above his head which leaves Keith, his brother, and something hanging over them. Shiro tilts his head to look him directly in the eye. “Now, little brother, you are going to tell me what we both know is going on here.”

* * *

 

Lance stretches for a grand total of ten minutes before his impatience forces him off the ice and into the boards. He had intended on being more thorough but he could barely touch his toes in all this padding so it was useless to even try. Shiro and Keith, across the rink from them, had taken to gathering the discarded sticks and pucks, making some serious headway in the short window of time. They’ve move onto dragging the nets across the ice’s smooth surface while Lance, Hunk, and Pidge begin the impossible task of removing their many pounds of gear.

Most of it is pretty straight forward: straps, velcro, pull, toss. With every discarded layer, Lance starts to breath more easily, move more easily, and feel more like himself. There’s a nasty coating of sweat underneath all for that but that’s not on the forefront of his mind at the moment.

The bulky chest padding proves to be the most aggravating of them all. Lance snaps off the straps hooking the shoulder pieces to his arms and moves to shimmy out of it, wedging one arm through the hole and yanking upwards. There’s a brief moment where Lance thinks he’s free of this monstrosity and the burst of elation is almost too much to take, but then he’s stuck, unmoving and confused.

“Are you fucking k -” Lance curses under his breath and tries to tug at the padding again but his one arm is trapped against body while the other is awkwardly twisted above his head. He looks up through the head hole and suddenly feels very much like a child (trying and failing) to dress themselves. He clears his throat, flapping his hand above him in the general direction of his friends. “Uhhh, guys? Wanna give me a hand here?”

“Nope.” It’s Pidge’s voice that reaches him from under the tent of padding, much to Lance’s chagrin. “I’m enjoying this, actually.”

Lance rolls his eyes even though he knows they can’t see him, but rather hoping they can _feel_ it. “Whatever. Hunk?”

“Not here.” Pidge replies matter of factly. He hears them stand and toss something down at their feet. “He went to go clean up so it’s just you and me.”

“Why does the universe hate me so much?” Lance groans and begins his flailing again but somehow he only gets himself even _more_ stuck - as if that was possible.

“Would you like an alphabetical or a chronological list?”

“I”d like _someone_ to get me out of this _torture device_ before I _suffocate_.” Lance tries to emphasize his words with pointed, jerky movements but he isn’t sure it came across as anything other than futile attempts to escape.

“Okay, well, firstly,” another pair of footsteps join Pidge’s and Lance curses the world for dropping Keith into this situation when it _really didn’t have to_. “You aren’t going to suffocate.”

“That’s what you think.” Lance mumbles unhappily as Keith’s steps slowly approach him.

“And secondly,” Keith’s face slides into view, taking up the small window from the head hole above Lance’s head, and he grins down at him with barely contained laughter. “Need a hand?”

Lance tries to glare at him but he’s sure it falls flat. “What does it look like?”

 _There_ ’ _s_ the laughter. It bubbles from Keith’s chest as he steps out of view and reaches down to tap at Lance’s sides. “I mean, it looks like you forgot a few straps right here.” There’s a small click and the padding goes slack around him, falling back around his neck and freeing his arms. Lance wastes no time pulling it from his head and tossing it in the seat behind him, reveling in the full range of motions he now has. Keith steps forward again with a somewhat muted smile. “There - you’re free.”

“ _Finally_.” Lance leans forward to start at the laces on his boots so he can rip off the rest of his leg padding. “I don’t know how you can stand being that bundled up throughout a whole game, honestly.”

“It’s not that bad,” Keith shrugs.

Lance focuses on the knot of his right skate and scoffs at Keith’s response. “Yeah, right. I was literally just wearing it and I can promise you that it really _is_ that bad.”

“Well if that’s how you feel, you should try fighting in it, next,” Keith replies with a soft chuckle, moving to remove his own skates and gear. “ _That_ ’ _s_ hard.”

Lance snorts loudly as he all but flings his skate off his foot and moves onto viciously tearing off his shin pads. “No, _thank you_. I think I’ll pass.”

Keith is mid-laugh when Shiro slides up to them with a few extra sticks in his hands, reaching over to lean them against the boards before stepping across himself. “Man, I forgot how tiring hockey practice can be.”

His comment only further provokes Keith’s laughter and they all turn to look at the younger brother. “Oh, I could tell. You’re out of shape.”

“Out of shape?!” Shiro sputters.

“Did you not see how you handled the puck?” Keith retorts with a quirk of his eyebrow. “Coach would have your ass for some of the slips ups you made today.”

Shiro stares at his brother, taken aback and offended. If Lance didn’t know better, he’d think Shiro was actually upset, but he can see the amused glint in his eye. “I haven’t played a game in years so cut me some slack, alright. Besides -” he folds his arms over his chest to narrow his eyes accusingly. “It’s not like _you_ can talk.”

“Excuse me?” Keith pulls his jersey over his head to get to his elbow padding.

“You heard me,” Shiro leans back on the boards before continuing. “I saw you pulling your checks earlier -”

“We were playing against _newbies_ , Shiro.”

“- _and_ I think you were letting the puck go a little too easily a few times.”

Lance turns to Keith in surprise, Pidge doing the same from one row over. Keith, who has just removed his chest padding and tossed it aside, glares at his brother warningly. Lance leans in towards him with a smirk. “Is he implying what I _think_ he’s implying.”  
“No-”

“Were you going _easy_ on us?” Pidge, too, leans forward, hands grabbing onto Keith’s forearm and squeezing.

“No way.”

“I think you were,” Shiro adds, which only causes Keith’s glaring to grow in intensity.

Keith goes to reply but Pidge cuts him off by throwing their arms aggressively around his neck and rocking them both slightly. “Awww, Keith cares about us!”

“What- I-” Keith fumbles under their weight as he moves his face away from their cowlicked hair. “Pidge-!”

“You can’t deny it! Not from me!” Just as abruptly as they grabbed him, they pull away and stare at him in mock warning. “Remember: I know everything.”

Keith seems a little worried, almost _scared_ , as he stares back at them. He lets his gaze drift over to Lance beside him in concern. “How do they _do_ that?”

Lance only shrugs. “That’s why their glasses are so big - they’re full of secrets.”

“Did you…” Keith’s uneasy expression settles into a frown as he tilts his head to the side to stare Lance unbelievingly and disappointedly. “Did you just quote Mean Girls?”

“It is a cinematic _masterpiece_ , so don’t even start with me!” Lance jabs his finger straight at his chest.

“Alright, alright. That’s enough.” Shiro jumps back in,  holding up his hands to stop whatever threat Lance had on the tip of his tongue. “We have some cleaning up to do so, Keith, we have to get going.”

“Going?” Pidge watches Keith stand up, taking his pile of gear with him, to join Shiro. “Where are you going?”

Keith jostles the padding in his arms slightly. “We have to return all the stuff we borrowed from the arena before our next practice tonight. Coach will have my ass if it doesn’t end up _exactly_ where we found it this morning.”

“Do you need a hand, at all?” Lance turns to spot Hunk strolling down the aisle, significantly cleaner with a towel hanging around his neck. “I brought my car today if you need some way to transport it all.”

Shiro shakes his head. “We should be alright as is. Allura’s bringing the cars over to the loading zone right now, actually, so we’re pretty much set.”

“Well,” Hunk stops beside Pidge and leans against their seat. “We had plans to go out for lunch anyways so we can always wait a bit before heading out if you want to join us?”

Shiro looks to Keith, then, raising his brows as in question and Keith purses his lips before responding. “I don’t know. I think I need some recovery time before practice so I’ll have to pass, sorry.”

“No worries,” Hunk shrugs then looks down to Pidge and Lance. “Anyways, I’m ready to go whenever you two are, so get your butts in gear.”

Pidge, also free of their gear, hops to their feet and snags their bag from behind the chair they hid it earlier. “No need because I’m already ready.”  
Hunk laughs at their enthusiasm, sparing them a look of endearment before turning to Lance. “Lance?”

“Just give me a few minutes to clean up then we’re good to go.” He pushes himself up with a sigh. “I feel like I sweat out a solid fifteen pounds under all that shit.”

Shiro shoots him a quick look and Lance can immediately smell the lecture coming before he’s even opened his mouth. “Make sure you all rest well tonight, alright? No one push themselves doing anything more than they have to. Lance, ice your knee.” Lance rolls his eyes so Shiro turns his attention to the other pair. “And you two, take it easy. Follow your usual pre-competition routine and you should be fine.”

Lance expects them to jump straight into their usual pool of nerves, with whatever easy energy they’re carrying dissipating in the blink of an eye so that the panic can set in. But that doesn’t happen. They both nod seriously in understanding without a trace of anxiety in sight and it takes Lance by surprise. These past few weeks they’ve existed in a constant state of worry and now they barely even blink in the face of their main source of terror.

“Good.” Shiro nods back at them then claps a hand onto Keith’s shoulder. “Alright now, let’s get going. Allura’s probably waiting for us to show up.”

“You’re probably right,” Keith shifts the gear in his arms to get a better grip and starts to take a step away from the group.

Before Lance can really second guess it, he raises a hand to stop him. “Hey, uh, Keith?” Keith pauses mid-step and raises one brow, waiting, and Lance can feel everyone else do the same. He finds it hard to articulate his thoughts, to put words to all the emotions he feels and the gratitude he has for what Keith did. This wasn’t just a friendly game of hockey, they both know that and he wants to make it clear. “I was just going to-” He stops himself, edits his thoughts and tries to be as sincere as he can be under everyone’s careful eyes. “Thanks.” Keith’s face shows a hint of surprise, probably not expecting that from Lance right now, but Lance takes in a deep breath and continues. “Really. Thank you.”

Keith doesn’t seem to know how to respond, like his brain stopped working as soon as Lance opened his mouth, so Hunk jumps in. “This was really awesome, Keith. I hadn’t played hockey in such a long time so it was pretty nostalgic for me. Plus, it was nice to take a break from our usual routines for a day. It felt like a breath of fresh air, honestly.”

“I agree!” Pidge literally hops into view with a bright smile. “I definitely had _way_ more fun today than I thought I was going to when I woke up this morning. We all needed the time off, I guess.” Their smile softens and they shove their hands in their sweatpants pockets. “And it’s all ‘cause of you so thanks, Keith.”

Lance knows what Pidge and Hunk are doing, knows they caught onto what he was trying to do himself, and he’s thankful for it. Especially when looking at the blank slate of Keith’s expression slowly morph into a quiet smile.

“It’s fine, really. I-I had fun, too, so…” He pauses to rub the back of his neck, uncertain and shy. “You’re welcome.”

Shiro watches this with a warm, proud smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. He lets Keith’s words hang in the air for a few seconds longer before he nudges him lightly and nods off towards the rink entrance. “Let’s get this stuff to Allura.”

“Yeah, uh, let’s go.” Keith turns to them one last time and offers the most glowing, genuine smile Lance has seen on him to date. “I’ll see you guys later, okay?”

They all nod, collecting their own things while the two brothers make their way up the aisle to the main lobby.

As they walk, Shiro ruffles Keith’s hair fondly, receiving a gentle shove in response from his embarrassed brother. Shiro’s laughter gets cut off by the door closing with a soft click, leaving the three of them to their own devices.

Lance pulls his bag onto his shoulder, barely listening to whatever conversation Pidge has started behind him, as he stares at the solid surface of the rink doors and wonders why he so badly wants Keith to walk back through them.

Why he so desperately wants the day to never end.

* * *

 

“Holy smokes, am I going to sleep well tonight!” Hunk exclaims as he falls backwards onto the couch with a  small ‘oof!’ upon impact.

Lance turns the bolt in the lock before shifting to face him, a yawn sneaking out as he does. “Who knew, the key to a good night’s sleep was a game of hockey?”  
“Well,” Hunk folds his arms behind his head and shifts around to get comfortable. “I don’t know if you can consider what we played ‘a game’, per se.”

Lance tosses his keys onto the kitchen table before kicking off his shoes in the general direction of his front door. “There was ice, sticks, and a chunk of rubber. What else is there?” He wades across their main entrance to their bathroom and begins his night time skincare routine. “Although I guess the shortened play time is probably a part of it… How long do you think we played? An hour?” He grabs his tub of cold cream and begins to slather it across his forehead, leaning out the bathroom door to listen to his friend’s response. He’s offered only silence, however, his living room calm and still. “Hunk?” He crosses the threshold back into the main section of their apartment and heads over to the couch, leaning over it with cold cream still in hand. Stretched out in the exact same position Lance left him in lies Hunk, softly snoring and dead to the world. Lance sighs. “Dude, you’re neck will be killing you tomorrow if you sleep like that.” Still no response. He rounds the end of the couch, deposits the tub of cream on their coffee table, and turns back to his friend to nudge him gently in the side. “ _Hunk_.”

Regardless of how many times he nudges him or calls him, Hunk isn’t waking up. Realizing this, Lance concedes in getting his current plight and, instead, makes his way to Hunk’s room to grab his blanket and pillow. He deposits them on the living room floor with a huff before reaching out to grab Hunk by the ankles and yank him off the arm of the couch. The guy is double Lance’s weight but with a competition only days away, he’s not going to let that get in the way of him saving Hunk from a fucked up spine. He pushes the pillow under his head, drapes the blanket over him and stares down at his exhausted friend’s snoring form, completely undisturbed by Lance’s man-handling. He can’t make himself be annoyed with Hunk. Not now and probably not ever. So he sighs a long sigh, shakes his head, and takes his cold cream and his sleep-craving thoughts back to the dim light radiating from the open bathroom door.

* * *

 

It seems that the inability to shut off your brain is contagious, as it’s been two hours and Lance is still lying in bed, wide awake.

He tried many things: counting metaphorical sheep, slowing his breathing, reading five full chapters of an old fiction novel he forgot about. Nothing was putting him to sleep so he just gave into his thoughts, facing his ceiling with the blankets pulled up to his stomach.

His train of thought ducked into several stations quickly, passing from one to the other even if they don’t make sense or even link together whatsoever. One second he’s thinking about the possible line up in Pidge and Hunk’s upcoming competition, and the next he’s reliving their goals from today.

Had Keith actually gone easy on them as Shiro suggested? Lance tries to compare his skating in the Finals game to what he saw today but he has a feeling he was too caught up in _not_ falling on his face to pay attention to that, as his memories of it are slightly fuzzy. He remembers the competitive glint in Keith’s eyes after their first goal, the way he and Shiro had so effortless worked together, Keith’s relentless teasing - those parts are crystal clear. Why can’t he remember?

The more he ventures into those memories, the further off topic his mind wanders…. To the Red Lions game. To the sloped line of Keith’s shoulders under his jersey. To every soft, lingering look they’ve passed between the two of them that Lance still doesn’t quite understand. To that frozen bubble of time after the recital where Lance’s body had acted before he could think it through.

All these moments flit through his mind and the question blooms from ‘why’ to ‘what’?

What is going on? What are they looking at here? What are both of them edging closer to, so close they could see its faint silhouette, only to duck back behind their own walls with heavy beating hearts?

What was so familiar about this?

The rough stone wall surrounding him seems to slowly split before his eyes and he feels his heart sink into his stomach. Frantic hands pull at the cracking surface, his breath torn from his chest when the panic sets in. Not again not again not again. It’s all he has. All that keeps him safe.

Inside the broken down house that dreams of being a home - surrounded by stinging, vicious ivy - a ring of wilting petals reach desperately for the light. Surely something so beautiful couldn’t hurt as badly as it’s said to… Would its heat truly be the weak flower’s demise or will it be what helps it grow? Could it truly be as bad as it was in those memories buried deep into the earth?

Lance’s hands hurt from clinging so hopelessly against the edges of stone, praying his feeble grip will keep it from crumbling around him. This thing he built and care for for so long - he can’t let it break again. Won’t let it.

 

“ _HUNK_.”

The red numbers of their living room clock read 3:27 when Lance bursts into the room with bed tousled hair. He nearly slams into the couch but manages to catch himself at the last second, panic still racing through his chest as he watches his roommate shoot up out of the nest he made and tumble off the cushions onto the floor.

“ _WHAT_?” He sits up, hanging onto the edge of the coffee table to hoist himself into Lance’s line of sight, his own eyes wide in panic. “WHAT’S WRONG? WHAT’S ON FIRE?”

Lance’s heart is still racing and his breath is still leaving him in gasps so his words come out broken and breathy. “I _like_ … there’s… there’s a _guy_.”

Hunk stares at him incredulously. “ _Didn’t you come out to me_ , _like_ , FOUR YEARS AGO?” He throws his hands up in the air, realizing that nothing is, in fact, on fire. “Why are you telling me this at ---” A glance over at the clock. “ _Three in the morning_?”

“He’s -” Lance heaves in a heavy breath and braces him on the back of the couch. “I didn’t… think…” He struggles for a few seconds longer as his thoughts race at a mile a minute, too fast for him to even stay on top of. In an a desperate attempt to just _get it out_ and stop the panic in his mind he sputters out a single word. “ _Keith_.”

The room falls silent. Neither he nor Hunk say anything for a minute, the bold, red 8 flipping onto the clock screen while they stare each other down.

Then, finally.

“..........you woke me up for this?”

All at once, Lance’s thoughts freeze and he stares in stupor at his tired looking friend. “What do you mean ‘ _this_ ’?! This is a big deal!”

“You’re messing with me,” Hunk rolls his eyes and pulls himself to his feet, taking his blanket with him in a clumped pile. “You go back to bed, dude. This was a prank you could have pulled in broad daylight so I don’t know why you waited until I was asleep to do it.”

“This isn’t a prank!” Lance insists. “I’m _serious_!”

Hunk pauses in rearranging his makeshift bed to watch Lance with narrowed eyes, expression calculating. “You’re serious.”

“Completely!”

“You only figured this out just now?”

“Literally minutes ago!” Lance stops. “Wait - does that mean you knew?”

“Of course I knew!” Hunk tosses the blanket down on the couch and rubs a hand down his face. “ _Everyone_ knows. Hell, Pidge called it on day one!”

“That’s because they’re a demon made of black magic, you can’t compare them to me!” Lance groans loudly while his brain does its best to process this revelation. “How long ago did _you_ figure it out?”

Hunk throws himself down onto the cushions with a sigh. “Weeks ago, dude. I can’t believe you didn’t know until now.”

“You’re telling me!” Lance climbs over the back of the couch and drops down next to Hunk. “I thought I was just… into him, you know? Not _into him_ into him!”

Tired and deadpan, Hunk mumbles. “You’ll have to explain the difference to me at a later date because I am too tired right now, Lance. You like Keith, we all know that. Now go to sleep.”

He tries to lay back but Lance grabs a hold of his arm with terror in his eyes. “Oh my god.”

Hunk sighs and lets himself be pulled back up. “What?”

“Does _he_ know?”

“Lance what are you -”

“ _Keith_ . Does Keith know?” Lance squeezes Hunk’s arm a little tighter. “You said everyone already knows so does that mean _he_ knows, too?!”

Hunk snorts loudly. “No way. He’s just as oblivious as you are about all of this. Which… is surprising considering how obvious it is sometimes.”

“I can’t believe this,” Lance drops his head into his hands, finally losing his death grip on Hunk’s arm.

“Really?” He feels Hunk shift so that he’s leaning against the back of the couch. “Keith’s attractive and a good guy - why is this so shocking?”

“No, it’s not....” Lance pinches his eyes shut and tries to swallow the fear building in his gut. “I don’t _want_ this, Hunk. I’m not… I don’t do this kind of thing.”

“What kind of thing?”

“ _Feelings_.” Lance all but whines, pulling his face up to stare helplessly at Hunk. “I don’t do this…. Not anymore.”

The tiredness in Hunk’s eyes melts slowly, his brow pulling together into an expression Lance knows too well. “Lance…” The pity is so blatant, even in his voice.

“Don’t.” He’s barely holding on as it is and he doesn’t need that look in Hunk’s eyes to be what finally breaks him. “How did this happen, Hunk? I’m so careful.”

Hunk shrugs, the movement small and sad. “Sometimes it just… happens. You don’t have to be out looking for it to come to you.”

“What… What do I do?”

A few beats pass before Hunk responds and when he does it’s hesitant. “Maybe this is a good thing? Maybe he’ll be good for you.”

“Hunk.”

“I’m serious, Lance.” His eyes turn fierce when he forces Lance to meet his gaze. “I want you to be happy and this might do that.”

“You don’t -”

Hunk cuts him off before Lance can continue. “I’ve seen it, you know. Seen the way you two talk to each other, the way you look at each other… I think you’d be happy with him, Lance.” A pause. “You already _are_.”

Lance doesn’t answer, can’t answer, and Hunk tries again.

“Why are you holding yourself back?”

Hunk knows why - he does - he’s just trying to get Lance to talk about it. Talking about it doesn’t do anything so what’s the point? It’s still there, eating away at the back of his mind, and it isn’t going away. The last thing Lance wants to do is make it stronger by bringing it into the light where it can fester even more.

Hunk leans closer.

“Do you…” Lance watches his friend’s sad, almost pained, expression. “Lance, do you think you don’t deserve this? To be happy with someone?”

Lance is done. He can’t be here for another second. The room feels small and the air feels thin - he needs to leave. Now.

“I-” He stands up from the couch and takes a few steps back. “I’m going back to bed.”

“Lance.” Hunk goes to follow him but Lances holds up both hands.

“It’s fine. Please.” He pleads quietly. “I just - I need to sleep.”

Hunk seems reluctant to let him go but there must be something in Lance’s eyes that tell him now is not the time to push him. He nods unhappily and sinks back into the cushions. “Okay. But you - you come get me if you need anything, alright? I’m right here for you. Always.”

“Yeah.” Lance sucks in a slow breath but it catches at the end. “I… I’m gonna -” He cuts himself off before his voice can crack and before he breaks, turning on his heel to the safety of his bedroom.

He leans against the close door and sucks in slow breath after slow breath, all the while begging his heartbeat to slow down.

_It’s fine, Lance. You’re fine._

 

The wall is standing. His arms may shake with effort, his palms may be scraped raw from where they lie against the ragged rock, and his chest may heave from broken, exhausted sobs, but it’s standing.

It’s all he has left. All that keeps him safe.

 

* * *

* * *

* * *

**NOTES:**

I've got a big announcement before I get to the real author's notes

!

Due to popular demand,  
I'll be hosting a stream this upcoming Tuesday (January 17th) at 2pm EST and then again on Thursday (January 19th) at 8pm EST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

stream link! [https://www.twitch.tv/minadora](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.twitch.tv%2Fminadora&t=OGFkNTdkOGFiMjNhZGFiY2NmNTIxNjc2ZmMyNzNhYzI1YTJjZTNlZixkOTR1bU9CZg%3D%3D&b=t%3Af7M5QRSza7IevkF-yoAPZQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Fwardenalistair.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F155875431337%2Fso-this-is-happening-yall-asked-oh-so-nicely&m=1)

I’m opening up the stream to On Thin Ice related Q&A, general writing Q&A, and/or fun chats! I’m also considering doing a stream drabble where you guys can decide what the topic is and I’ll write it during the stream for y’all to enjoy! :) I'm excited to talk to you guys, honestly, I've been super pumped since I chose the dates hahaha

 

ANYWAYS

Every series needs a filler chapter and this is OTI’s lmao  
Just a light chapter for some character development and scene setting leading up to a few heavier chapters. Gotta build a foundation, y’all!

As always, check out the beautiful art people make [(all of which I've reblogged)](http://wardenalistair.tumblr.com/tagged/oti) and show the artists some love! :))))) We adore you guys and thank you for your continued support!!!!!

  
also: @ wittyy and sora, told you i’d do it.

 

 


	9. Cutting Edge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOME IMPORTANT NOTES FOR THE CHAPTER:  
> 1) for the sake of brevity (haha what's that??) and smoother reading, i changed the competition slightly from real life competitions. no short program in this one, only a free program. you'll have to excuse me for that one....i just didn't want to write another 15k worth of skating okay. ITS 25K AS IT IS  
> 2) there are a few routines in this chapter! i'll post the links to them in the order they appear, so just have them ready if you want to see them performed irl :)
> 
> First routine is in this video at 15:25  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a3CaxIjFze8&feature=youtu.be&t=925
> 
> Second routine is the same video but at 23:20
> 
> Third routine is right here!  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XOkCg1uU-yg
> 
>  
> 
> would you look at that! I survived another intense couple months.......... barely OTL  
> for those of you who don't know, i work for my family's business and from mid-january to now has been SO BUSY for us!!! it's a good thing, but that means my writing had to take the back burner. but hey! at least you get a 40+ page chapter in the end hahaha! i didn't re-read it in its entirely so im praying the typos are at a minimum T.T
> 
> Enjoy and I'll see you at the end!

Lance had warned Keith that Hunk snored. Several times, actually.

What he failed to tell him was how _loudly_ he snored.

 

Flaked out in the back of Shiro’s car, Hunk and Pidge lean against each other while the former snores so viciously that Keith begins to worry the guy might hurt himself. Keith has positioned himself into a semi-comfortable spot beside them while Allura and Shiro enjoy the leg space in the front seats. The small, cramped space of the car is literally engulfed by the rumbling and no volume of music pumping through Keith’s headphones could drown it out. It had been at least an hour of this, possibly longer, but honestly Keith isn’t sure because he’s lost all concept of time in this tornado of sound. A few times he’d look up at Shiro only to find him dutifully staring at the road ahead like nothing was out of the ordinary. Allura barely seems to be bothered either, attention directed towards a thick paperback book that she’s been working at throughout the drive.

After one particularly loud snort, Keith sighs heavily and pops his headphones from his ears, completely giving up on blocking it out. “How are you guys not bothered by this?”

Shiro glances back to him in the rearview mirror. “We’re pretty used to it.”

“It isn’t that bad, really.” Allura shrugs as she flips to the next page.

“‘Isn’t that bad’?” Keith scoffs. He nudges a limp Hunk slightly so that he can lean forward between the front seats. “Allura, I feel like I’m sitting next to a jet that’s about to take off.”

She laughs but doesn’t look up from her book when she responds. “I suppose we are somewhat desensitized to Hunk’s snoring. Just do your best to ignore it.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that’s possible,” Keith rolls his eyes, resting his chin against the back of her seat. “I’m surprised Pidge can _sleep_ through this, honestly.”

“They’ve had a lot of time to train,” Shiro adds as he switches over to the fast lane to pass a slow moving truck. “They’ve been Hunk’s partner for many years so I’m sure they barely notice his snoring anymore.”

Keith sneaks a look back at Pidge, completely dead to the world despite the loud roaring directed straight into their ear, then turns back towards his brother. “That seems like a more intensive training regime than their damn routines.”

“Pretty close,” Shiro laughs and merges back into the slow lane with a quick look over his shoulder.

“Well,” Allura finally places the book down into her lap, marking her page with a quick fold of the corner. “Lance never seemed to have a problem with it either.”

“Lance lives with him, remember?” Keith mumbles.

“Ah, yes.” There’s a brief pause in Allura’s speech as she toys with the edges of the beat up paperback, tilting her head to look over at Shiro. “I still wish Lance could have joined us… It doesn’t seem fair that he has to stay behind - especially for an event like this.”

 

_“Alright, you guys.” Shiro leans against the boards and waves a paper in the air. “Want to see who you’re competing against?”_

_“You mean, whose butts they’re going to kick?” Lance slings an arm over Pidge’s shoulders, laughing as he jostles them slightly._

_“Lance.” Hunk rolls his eyes as they all slowly make their way over to Shiro._

_“What?” Lance shrugs. “It’s true! You guys are going to wipe the ice with these suckers. I mean, I know_ I _wouldn’t want to be going up against you two.”_

_Keith can only laugh at his intense enthusiasm but he definitely doesn’t disagree with him. He has nothing to compare them to in terms of competition so he can’t say for sure, but he’s on Lance’s side of all of this. Hunk and Pidge don’t seem to feel similarly, frowns quickly dampening their expressions as they approach Shiro._

_They hadn’t intended to doing any actual skating this morning, what with the competition so close, but they’d ended up back at the rink after lunch so what else were they supposed to do? Keith didn’t have hockey practice until much later that night so Keith wasn’t too concerned about a quick skate being too tiring. Besides, it wasn’t anything too complex either. Just some easy loops of the rink while Lance nitpicked his technique and Hunk and Pidge followed along behind them. Lance had been surprisingly quiet with him - uncharacteristically so. Keith was so certain that they had moved beyond the awkward, early stages of their relationship (whatever it may be), but their fumbling, uncomfortable interactions prove otherwise. What had even happened to set them so far back? He glances over to Lance now, practically bouncing from excitement while Pidge waves off his never ending slew of praise. He seemed fine with the others but it was like he wanted to avoid talking with Keith as much as he could. Keith had made Shiro promise not to say anything to anyone about Keith’s… situation, and he’s praying he kept that promise. He doesn’t want that to be what ruins whatever progress he and Lance had made._

_“Should I read it to you or do you want to see it for yourself?” Shiro asks when they’re close enough, pulling Keith out of his worried thought process._

_Hunk’s anxiety seems to visibly increase at the sight of that. “Um…”_

_“I’ll read it.” Pidge is all business when they reach out for it, slight shake of their fingers betraying their nerves. Their eyes scan over the paper and they exhale slowly while Hunk slowly steps up behind them to read over their shoulder. They’re silent for a few seconds, during which Keith exchanges a look with Lance a few feet away from him, but then Pidge glances up at Hunk with a small smile. “This isn’t too bad. We might actually be able to do this.”_

_Lance scoffs and folds his arms over his chest. “What are you talking about? It doesn’t matter who’s on that list ‘cause they don’t stand a chance against you.”_

_Pidge finally looks hopeful, eyes bright when they look to Lance. “God, I hope so.”_

_“Wait,” Hunk places a hand on Pidge’s shoulder and reaches over them to point towards the bottom of the page. “Pidge, look…”_

_Their smile falters every so slightly at the tone of Hunk’s voice. “What is… ?”_

_Both of them fall silent. They don’t  just stare at the paper with concern while Keith looks between everyone in the room. “What’s wrong?” No one responds or even acknowledges him so he turns to Lance. He seems uncertain, even a little worried, as he meets Keith’s questioning eyes. His expression gives him very little to go off of but it_ does _tell him that they’re verging on some dangerously sensitive territory._

 _“Hunk.” The heaviest in Lance’s voice is clearly something Hunk can’t ignore, his face slowly turning to him despite his obvious desire to look anywhere_ but _him. “What is it.”_

_It’s not a question, but a blank statement. A demand._

_There’s a whole layer to this situation that Keith is missing, something that pulls all the loose ends of this mess together so that he can understand what the hell Lance sees in Hunk’s eyes. He’s at their side in an instant, stepping in close to Pidge to stare down at the roster._

_“Lance…” Hunk lets go of his hold on Pidge’s shoulder to reach out to Lance instead. He only shakes his head and pulls away from the two of them, looking like he’s been punched in the gut._

_“Oh,” he takes one step backwards, hesitant. “Is that - uh - is that the date for Nationals?”_

_Pidge goes to follow him, roster completely forgotten. “Lance, you don’t have to -”_

_“Well, shit.” Lance continues like he didn’t even hear them, but there’s something about his voice that’s just a little too force, too tight. “I have to work that day. Sorry guys, I didn’t even realize it before now but I can’t come.”_

_Keith inspects Lance’s profile while the room fills with silence. Stone cold, hollow, and suddenly gaunt, he stares pointedly ahead of him to where Hunk and Pidge stare back. They either don’t know whether to respond or how to respond as neither of them even_ try _to say anything while Lance practically begs them with his eyes._

_“I want to. Really, I do. But I just… I can’t.” His voice catches towards the end and he pauses to clear his throat, shrugging to play this all off as something much lighter than it actually is. “My bad.”_

_“... That’s okay, Lance.” Hunk looks like he wants to say something more but holds himself back, his voice soft and gentle._

 

It hadn’t made sense to Keith then and it doesn’t make sense to him now.

This wasn’t about work. He doubts Lance even has a shift this weekend but everyone has kept up with that excuse so he hasn’t gotten any closer to a concrete answer about all of this. All he has to go on is that damn roster and he has no clue where to start. Who the hell is on that list that kept Lance from attending his closest friends competitions? Part of him is scared to meet them, knowing they can’t be a remotely good person if Lance so badly doesn’t want to see them. Another part wants to shake the truth out of his friends so he can hunt them down, confronting them for whatever it is they did to make Lance so openly terrified of them.

He wants to talk to Lance about it, get some sort of an explanation for the mess he’s carefully walking through, but he isn’t here.

_Lance had still been there to see them off, of course. He couldn’t come with them, but he refused to any more than that._

_It was painfully early in the morning for Keith when he had arrived at the arena the morning of the competition, but the rest of them were essentially unbothered by the ungodly hour. Lance had very enthusiastically held onto first Pidge then Hunk, eyes caring while he gave them what sounded like a very emphatic pep talk. When Lance finally pulled away from them, Matt stepped forward. He pulled Hunk into a firm hug, despite how much smaller he is than him, and pats him once on the arm. He doesn’t say anything, but Hunk still nods in understanding, like they shared a silent conversation through looks alone. He then moves towards Pidge, giving them a soft look and affectionate ruffle of their untamed bedhead. Pidge at least_ tries _to act annoyed with him and his brotherly dotting, but Keith can see how tightly they hold on when he finally pulls them into a warm hug. It lasts longer than anyone else’s goodbyes to date, their locked figures swaying slightly in the embrace, so Keith ducks his head and snags a spare bag of equipment lying on the curb. Shiro and Allura have been diligently checking and rechecking the trunk for nearly 15 minutes now to ensure that they have everything they need so he’s a little surprised they forgot about an entire bag._

_“Uh,” Keith lifts the bag up in front of him, catching attention. “Where should I put this?”_

_Allura smiles politely before gesturing towards the front of the car. “Passenger seat, please. That’s all of our essentials so I like to have it close when we travel.” She looks back to the loaded trunk and nods once. “I think everything is here so we should be ready to go now.”_

_The two of them follow around the side of the car as Keith plunks the bag at the foot of the passenger’s seat. Shiro pauses to pull the trunk closed with a loud thud, then tugs his jacket collar higher over his neck._

_“Well,” he says. “That’s that. Now all that’s left are our two skaters.” Keith follows his gaze to where Matt and Pidge stand, the latter rubbing at their eyes while their brother lays a hand on their shoulder. Shiro leans back against the car and tilts his head questioningly when Matt looks his way. “You sure you don’t want to come with us? We have plenty of space at the hotel.”_

_“Oh, I_ want _to,” Matt practically snorts. “But it’s a matter of whether or not I_ should _.” Keith doesn’t quite follow what he’s saying - especially considering his enthusiastic support for his sibling - and Matt obviously notices, looking to Keith when he continues. “Last time I left the rink unsupervised during a competition, a certain someone blew the entire arena’s lighting system controls by pouring coffee all over it.”_

_There’s hardly any hesitation in Keith’s decision to look pointedly at Lance, who seems appalled and offended by the silent accusation. “Well, excuse me! And here I thought you were my friend.”_

_Keith continues to look at him with narrowed eyes, not convinced. “So, you’re saying it_ wasn’t _you?”_

_“I mean…” Lance turns away with his hands propped on his hips and stubbornness in his eyes. “No. But I’m still hurt by how little you think of me.”_

_“Mhm,” Keith hums quietly, earning himself a glare from Lance._

_“Alright everyone,” Shiro pulls his car keys from his pocket and shakes them expectantly. “We’ve got a long drive ahead of us so we need to get going.”_

_Most them jump to action, saying their final goodbyes and hopping into their seats while Shiro does one final once over. Allura however, hangs back, wringing her hands nervously._

_“Now Lance,” she begins and Lance sighs as if he knows what’s coming. “You have those lesson plans I gave you, yes?”_

_“Yup. In my bag inside the arena.”_

_“And you have your set of keys, too?”_

_Lance pats at his jeans side pocket in response, the sound of metal clinking together just barely audible._

_“Alright. Good.” She pauses, the look on her face telling Keith that those few reassurances did nothing to calm her nerves. “Coran is there to help if you need him, remember? I can write his number down for you if you wan- “_

_Shiro appears, then, hands finding her shoulders as he stands behind her. “Lance has his number, Allura. It’s fine.”_

_“But what about the -”_

_“Nope.” Shiro cuts her off and swiftly leads her towards the passenger seat despite her complaining. “The arena won’t burn down during the few days we’re gone so quit fussing. It will all be fine.” Keith can see her visibly fight the urge to continue her nagging but finally she nods (begrudgingly) and allows Shiro to close the door, moving to his own side shortly after._

_Lance shakes his head as Shiro’s door clicks shut, looking over to Keith with a roll of his eyes. “Every time.” Keith turns to him, too, hands tucked deep into his pockets. “Honestly, you’d think she’d be less panicked after so many years of out of city competitions and yet …” He sighs, an amused smile passing over his lips for the briefest of seconds._

_“She obviously cares about it, then.” Keith offers._

_“You have no idea.”_

_An awkward lull of silence falls between them, one that Keith doesn’t know how to break. Lance has been… not himself lately and it’s been pretty off putting. Not just after his sudden decision to not attend the competition, but also in general. He was more reserved, more uncertain. Keith feels like they took two steps forward and eight steps back, and he isn’t sure what to make of it. They had been so easy, so normal - but now they struggle to even maintain eye contact from several feet away._

_Thankfully, Lance is the one to tackle the heavy silence. “Anyways. You should get going.”_

_Keith, despite wanting to say something, can only nod._

_Another break settles in their conversation but neither of them leave. Matt has already crossed over to the car, leaning into the open front window while he rambles on to Shiro and Allura, so he isn’t there to save them from their own discomfort. It takes a few more seconds of painful silence to pull something from Lance._

_“Well - Alright.” He turns to leave, lips pressed into a tight line._

_Finally, Keith finds his voice. “Hey - are you…?” Lance stops mid step and barely turns to face him, just peers over to him with a questioning look. Keith swallows the thick lump forming in his throat and tries again. “Are we… alright?”_

_Lance seems to be a little taken aback by that, taking a second to search Keith’s expression with tired eyes that can’t be only from the early hour. “Yeah, of course. We’re fine.”_

_“I just…”  Keith sighs, shoulders falling with the motion. “Things seem a little weird between us and I - I wasn’t sure. I worried I did something wrong.”_

_Lance turns to fully face him then, gaze softer than it was seconds ago, and shakes his head. “No. No, it’s not you. Don’t worry about that. I’m - I’ve had a rough week, that’s all.”_

_Keith isn’t quite sure how to respond to that. Are they at the point in their relationship where Keith can offer support against whatever demons are plaguing him? He isn’t sure, but he so badly wants to as he toes the line with nervous steps. “If you, y’know, ever want to -- talk about it, or something… I’m, uh, available.” He gestures lamely to himself, dressed in ratty old sweats and a beat up sweater, while his words hang between them._

_Much to Keith’s surprise, Lance laughs. A breathy, disbelieving laugh as he ducks his head so his shaggy bangs brush against his forehead. “You don’t quit, do you?”_

_“Huh?” Keith frowns deeply and goes to step forward._

_But Lance is already moving on, turning to the arena entrance with a small wave over his shoulder. “Bye, Keith.”_

 

Now, back in the present, Shiro hums in agreement, sparing a quick look at Allura. “It _is_ unfortunate - he always loved attending their competitions.” Allura only hums, nodding as she turns her attention back to the book in her lap and the conversation comes to a close.

As if he somehow knows they’re talking about him, Keith’s phone buzzes with a new incoming message.

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (7:23)**

**sooooo how’s the ride going?**

 

Keith blinks down at his phone, the actual texts barely registering in his mind due to the overwhelming shadow that horrendous contact name is casting over it. When Lance had asked to put his info into Keith’s phone with the intentions of Keith keeping him up to date on the competition, he had not expected Lance to give himself a damn nickname.

 

**Keith (7:23)**

**what am i even looking at?**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (7:24)**

**presumably a cellphone if you’re able to text me back**

 

**Keith (7:24)**

**not that**

**your contact name**

**why**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (7:24)**

**because it’s funny and accurate**

 

**Keith (7:25)**

**i’m changing it**

 

Keith stares down at the _immediate_ reply he receives, composed entirely of various distressed smiley faces, and has trouble concealing his snort of laughter. Unfortunately, this grabs the attention of his nosy brother ahead of him who glances at Keith in the rearview mirror.

“Who are you texting back there?”

“According to his contact name: a knight of the round table.” Keith scrolls through the various smileys available to him - most of which he only barely understands - before settling on a devil’s face of sorts. He receives an even longer stream of crying faces in reply.

“Ahh,” Shiro says. “I was wondering when he’d make that joke.”

Allura quietly laughs beside him. “He certainly doesn’t disappoint.”

Keith rolls his eyes as the emojis keep coming, with or without a response from him. “I don’t know - I”m a little disappointed that he hadn’t made it before now.”

“He was probably waiting for the right moment,” Shiro shrugs. “Besides, he’s made plenty of other terrible jokes to make up for it. We’ve all suffered through our own ridiculous contact names.”

“Somehow I’m not surprised,” Keith laughs and drops his eyes back down to his phone screen.

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (7:29)**

**if you change my masterpiece in any way, shape or form i’ll never speak to you again**

 

**Keith (7:30)**

**is that all it takes? god, why didn’t you tell me sooner?**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (7:30)**

**you**

**are the meanest person i know**

 

**Keith (7:30)**

**relax i’m not touching your bad pun. someday it will be good blackmail material against you**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (7:31)**

**you say that assuming everyone else will think it’s bad or that im embarrassed of it.**

**(neither of which are true by the way)**

**anyways**

**you never actually answered me**

 

**Keith (7:31)**

**answered you?**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (7:31)**

**Scroll up, Mulletman.**

**how’s the ride?**

 

**Keith (7:31)**

**why would i scroll up when you just repeated yourself?**

 

**Lancelot (7:32)**

**answer the question keith**

 

**Keith (7:32)**

**its loud.**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (7:32)**

**told you**

 

**Keith (7:32)**

**no, you told me he snores. you never told me i’d be sharing the car with a human lawnmower**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (7:33)**

**only a few more hours to go!**

 

**Keith (7:33)**

**idk i might not make it. i’m gonna throw myself out of the car if this lasts much longer**

 

Seconds after Keith hits send there’s a hiccup in the snoring beside him and he turns just in time to see Pidge shifting in their sleep. Still unconscious, they slide lower on Hunk’s shoulder, causing his head to droop. His chin, previously resting atop Pidge’s head, slips off, leaving him with his cheeked smushed into their forehead. By some miracle, this quiet’s the sleeping giant. What was once a deafening roar is now a soft rumble and Keith has never loved the sound of snoring more than in that moment.

“Oh, _thank god_.” Keith exclaims, much to the amusement of his brother ahead of him who turns to look at him. “I’m serious! How any one person can make that much noise is beyond me.”

Shiro shrugs and leans an arm against the edge of the window. “You start to forget about it after a while.”

“Yeah, okay.” He replies sarcastically as his phone vibrates again, this next response much slower than the last, and he lifts it after shooting his brother one last disbelieving look. “I don’t know if I believe you.”

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (7:35)**

**don’t worry. This knight in shining armour is here to save you.**

 

Keith _tries_ to act like his face isn’t completely aflame as he types in a half-hearted response. He isn’t sure if Shiro notices or not, but he really doesn’t want to look up to find out.

* * *

Keith’s fatigue seems to catch up with him after about twenty more minutes of driving. He had been up early to meet them at the arena _and_ had practice the night before, so the slow, monotonous hum of the car engine was practically a lullaby at this point. He figures he wouldn’t miss much if he just slept through a few hours of the trip, so he lets himself lean his head back and shuts his eyes.

That is, until Allura starts talking.

“So,” she begins quietly. He voice isn’t _quite_ a whisper, but it’s hushed, as if not to be heard. “I’m hoping I’m not the only one who notices what’s been going on at dear Altea Arena lately.”

“Hmm?” Keith can practically hear the quirk of his brother’s brow in his tone. There’s a pause, some shifting, then Shiro starts again with a hesitant whisper. “Ah… You know, maybe we _shouldn’t_ talk about this right now?”

“Don’t worry,” Allura replies cooly and Keith hears more shifting before she continues, her voice facing him now. “He’s asleep.”

Thanks to many years of training Keith has had as a younger brother, he has developed his fake sleeping skills, refining them into an art form. He slows his breathing and relaxes his muscles, head lolled to the side so when Allura turned around to check on him, he appears dead to both the world and the conversation they don’t want him to hear.

“As I said,” Allura starts again as she turns back towards the front of the car. “I can’t be the only one who has caught onto all of this.”

“You definitely aren’t,” Shiro sighs heavily. “I’m pretty sure everyone _else_ figured it out before he did.”

 _Shit_.

Does this mean what he _thinks_ it means?

Allura laughs quietly, the sound somehow still just as bright despite the quiet volume. “Unfortunately, yes. It’s sometimes a little ridiculous in how painfully obvious it is- ”

_Yup, they all know. Great._

“- and yet… neither of them will speak of it.”

Even though he’s probably the most mortified he’s ever been in his entire life, Keith can’t help but notice the incredible irony of the situation. Neither Shiro nor Allura can really say much about Keith’s reluctance to… confess when both of them are sitting on several years of feelings. Shiro seems to know this too, piping up with a basic defensive explanation.

“I can’t say I blame him, “ the buzz of the radio fills the silence in between his words as he tries to sound as casual as he can manage. “He’s probably concerned about ruining their current relationship. And let’s be honest, you and I both know what a feat it is for Keith to have gotten as far as he has.”

There’s a slow sigh of acceptance. “I suppose so.”

Silence hangs over them for a few seconds and Keith begins to wonder if he’s been made. He’s just about to fake some light snoring when Allura continues in a small, concerned voice.

“I do… worry for Lance, however.”

 _Worry_? Keith resists the urge to frown, maintaining his cover.

“I know what you mean,” Shiro agrees with a hum. “We’re all pretty protective of him, possibly _overly_ so, but it isn’t our place to intervene. This is his life and his choice.”

“I only hope he makes the right choice.”

“He will.” Shiro assures her softly. “He just needs time.”

Another lull of silence fills the space, but Keith can sense the anticipation lying underneath it. Then - hesitantly, quietly - Allura speaks.

“Have you… ever…” She trails off, clearly unsure about whatever she’s going to ask. She seems to gather herself, her voice far more confident when she continues. “Have you ever spoken to Matt?” There’s a small, surprised sound from his brother’s general direction followed by Allura’s now calmer, almost amused, voice. “It’s hardly a secret, Shiro.”

“It’s - well -” His brothers sputters to come up with a response at first but he eventually pulls his thoughts together. “ I just… wasn’t expecting such a forward approach of the topic.”

“I wasn’t sure how else to approach it.”

Shiro heaves out a heavy breath. “In all honesty, I’m too worried to speak with him… about it.”

“Matt is a kind man,” Allura begins. “He would never be angry with you - no matter what you say to him.”

“I know.” A heavy pause. “I know… I just - “

Shiro trails off again. Although there’s definitely more Keith wants to know about the previous subject, he won’t deny his curiosity about the current one. Neither can Allura, clearly.

“What _would_ you say?” She presses gently. “To him, that is.”

“God, I don’t know.” Shiro sounds completely exhausted by the conversation. In all honesty, Keith is a little surprised Shiro has avoided it for so long. Sure, his brother is selfless and does what he can to keep from hurting others, but it seems unlike him to avoid something like this.

“But do you…” Allura hesitates and Shiro jumps in without pause.

“No.” Shiro seems saddened by his response and Keith risks a peak through squinted eyes, shifting until his head is leaning toward Hunk. Shiro, eyes focused straight ahead of im, grips the wheels tightly with both hands while Allura searches his face in silence. He watches his brother shakes his head, the movement small and controlled. “I’ve known Matt for years, I’m as close to him as I am to you and the others, and I care about him - a lot - but… No, I don’t.”

Allura reaches a hand out to touch his arm, turning in her seat to face him more directly. “Matt would understand. He wouldn’t hold your feelings against you.”

He sends her a brief, weak smile then turns his eyes back to the road. “I guess I was hoping it would work out without me doing anything.”

“I hardly think that’s fair to Matthew.” Allura frowns at him while Shiro leans an elbow on the window frame, plopping his chin in his hand. “I’m sure he, himself, knows what your answer would be but that’s no excuse to drag this out.”

Heavy sigh. “I know.”

“Talk to him.” Allura’s voice is firm, stern even. “Shiro - he deserves your honesty.”

“He deserves to be happy,” Shiro replies sadly.

“Matthew values _you_ , Shiro.” Allura insists. “Just as he values the rest of us and our respective relationships. Your relationship with him won’t lose its validity after a simple talk. _I_ believe you two will benefit from this more than anything.”

“I’m not -”

“I’ve spoken with him.” Shiro glances over to her and she nods in confirmation. “Matt cares about _you_ \- not the possibility of something more. He won’t condemn you for this. He’s a better man than that and you know it.”

This time when Shiro sighs, there’s a breathy laugh accompanying it. “Clearly, he’s a better man that _I_ am.” He looks to her and offers a smile of reassurance. “I’ll talk to him. I will. And if I avoid it, please talk some more sense into me.”

“You can count on it,” her own smile is far more teasing in nature and Keith senses untold stories hiding beneath the expression, but then it’s softening and she leans her temple against the headrest to stare across at Shiro. “And Shiro?”

“Mmm?”

“You are _both_ good men.” She begins gently. “My father saw it from the moment he met you and it took very little for you to prove it to him -- or to me.”

For the second time during this conversation Shiro is taken by surprise. He pulls his chin from his palm and watches Allura with a look Keith has seen his brother wear only a few times in his life. Caught somewhere between action and inaction, he lets himself turn away from the monotonous blur of the road to take in the many facets of Allura’s expression. Keith very briefly wonders if his brother will actually say something, but then he’s turned away again, words chosen very carefully.

“You should get some sleep,” he leans against the window frame once more, fingers pressed to his cheek. “It was an early morning and we have a busy weekend ahead of us.”

Allura doesn’t grace him with another response, but she does turn her eyes toward the passenger window, her smile of fond amusement disappearing from Keith’s sight.

He has a hard time believing neither one of them has nothing left to say, but at this point his eyelids have grown heavy and tired. The constant lull of travel is soothing and Keith has had several early mornings lately. He isn’t sure how much time passes when his eyelids flutter shut but then he’s drifting off, giving into the call of sleep.

* * *

The sun sits much higher in the sky when Keith stirs awake. The car is now filled with soft conversation and a radio station he isn’t familiar with, early afternoon light falling over his face. He reaches up a hand to shield his eyes, turning away from the window with a quiet groan. His head bumps against something solid as he does and he peers up at the grinning profile of Hunk, who chats merrily with Allura in front of him. She turns partially in her seat, presumable to respond to Hunk, and makes brief eye contact with Keith, just barely awake now.

“Ah,” she smiles at him, pulling the others’ attention to him as well. “You’re awake.”

Keith sits up straighter in his seat and rubs at his eyes while he waits for his brain to catch up to his now conscious body, mustering up another groan in response.

Shiro’s eyes meet his in the rearview mirror. “You’ve slept through most of the trip, Bedhead.”

“I did?” Keith tries to stifle a yawn, his voice rounded by the sound.

Shiro nods. “It’s pretty impressive, really.”

Keith reaches his arms above his head, hands pressing against the roof, and pulls a few satisfying pops from his back before dropping them back down. He’s slightly more awake now and turns to look at Hunk through bleary eyes. “Sorry for, uh, flaking out on you for…” He fishes his phone from his pocket and examines at the red 12:19 and message notifications staring back at him. “ _Hours_. Shit.”

“No worries,” Hunk shrugs, his wide shoulders taking up a large portion of the backseat as he does. “Besides, it helps make up for my snoring.”

Keith laughs, pushing his hair back from his face. “A little.”

“It _also_ gave us the perfect opportunity to take our traditional road trip photo for the weekend.” Shiro adds from over his shoulder.

“Photo?”

Pidge, on the opposite side of Hunk, pops out a headphone and leans into Keith’s line of sight. “You’re lucky it was just of us sleeping. You have _no_ idea the kind of shit they have against us.”

Keith looks across at them. “Sleeping? What photo are you talking about?”

Allura’s hand appears between the two front seats, a phone held out to him. “I’ve already sent it to everyone back at the arena, so there’s no point in deleting it.”

Eyeing it like it might bite him, Keith takes the phone from her outstretched hand which is already open to display a photo of him, Hunk, and Pidge huddle in the back seat. Pidge still has their cheek smushed against Hunk’s shoulder with their legs tucked underneath them as they sleep, while Keith has his back pressed against Hunk’s other side, hands folded into his lap and head lolled to the side. Hunk sits upright, his sturdy figure supporting both of them, with his arms crossed over his chest and chin tucked to his chest. They’ve all crowded together in the centre of the backseat, probably while unconscious, but they don’t really seem to care, sleeping faces highlighted by the panel of light coming in from Pidge’s window.

“Oh my god,” Keith manages.

“Whatever you may be thinking,” Shiro starts with a laugh. “You’ve got to admit it’s pretty adorable.”

Keith glares at him through the mirror, earning another snicker from his older brother, and hands the phone back to Allura with a sigh. “Well, it definitely could be worse.”

“You have no idea.” Pidge groans as if remembering something they so badly want to forget.

He’s my brother, remember?” Keith lifts an eyebrow at them. “I’ve got a pretty good idea of the embarrassment he’s capable of. Trust me.”

“Either way, kiddos, we’re about ten minutes from the hotel so you’ll all be free soon.” Shiro informs them as he cross into the left lane.

“I’m not sure I’d call it ‘free’,” Hunk responds with a tired sigh. “We’ve got to get through the competition first.”

As the conversation drifts off into their schedule for the next few days, Keith swipes open his cell again, this time flicking open the unread messages he’s accumulated.

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (09:17)**

**just so you know: tadpoles are a breeze to teach when you’re not in the class ;)**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (09:23)**

**that was a joke btw**

**If the winky wasn’t clear enough**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (10:11)**

**i’m going to assume you either crashed or fell asleep**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (11:33)**

**according to this picture allura just sent me, it seems my second assumption was the right one**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (11:35)**

**is that drool i see on your chin?**

 

**Keith (12:26)**

**if it is, i definitely feel bad for passing out on hunk**

 

Keith is expecting at least a few minutes before he gets a reply, but his phone buzzes very shortly after he locks the screen.

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (12:27)**

**Honestly it’s road trip tradition that every cuddles up to him. he’s easily the most comfortable out of all of us**

 

**Keith (12:27)**

**I’m not going to deny that**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (12:27)**

**Makes me jealous of Shay**

 

**Keith (12:28)**

**Shay?**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (12:28)**

**oh my god**

**did we not tell you about shay?**

 

**Keith (12:28)**

**No?**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (12:28)**

**ask hunk about her and please tell me the exact shade of red he turns**

 

**Keith (12:29)**

**oh so shay is his girlfriend or something?**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (12:29)**

**or something**

 

“There we go.”

Keith looks up from his phone at the sound of Shiro’s voice to realize that he’s pulled them off of the busy highway and onto a main road in this foreign city. Rolling into Keith’s vision is a large sign for an incredibly fancy looking hotel, cars pulling in and out from the main entrance.

“Thank god,” Pidge sighs, exasperated. “My legs have been cramped for an hour now and there’s only so many ways to reposition in this car.”

Allura turns in her seat as Shiro pulls into the parking lot. “We’ll be inside soon enough. Now remember: do not push yourselves too far tonight. Your group doesn’t skate until late afternoon tomorrow but there’s no need to overwork yourselves beforehand.”

“Allura,” Hunk looks at her with a small smile. “How many competitions have we attended?”

“I’m only reminding you,” she faces forward again, reaching for her bag at her feet and pulling it into her lap.

Beside her, slowing the car to a stop at the far end of the parking lot, Shiro laughs. “Something tells me you’re more nervous than they are.”

“Not possible.” Pidge snorts loudly.

Allura shoots Shiro a look as they all collect their things and he pulls the key from the ignition. This is a large moment in their career. You can’t blame me for being concerned, especially as their coach.”

“I can’t,” Shiro reaches over and pats her hand consolingly. “I’m just teasing.”

Pidge leans forward in their seat and shares a grimace with Keith, eyes squinting at Shiro’s lovey-dovey gaze. Keith hides his chuckle and opens the door while he hauls his bag over his shoulder with a heavy exhale. It feels good to be out of that cramped back seat. He stretches his arms over his head, a low groan pulled from his chest as spots dance at the edges of his vision. Hunk pops up beside him and rolls his shoulders with a sigh of contentment.

“So,” he starts as he slowly takes in the hotel before them, people flowing in and out of its ornate main entrance. “We’re finally here.”

* * *

After a few hours of unpacking and settling in, they’ve all split up to work on separate tasks. Pidge and Hunk did some light work in the hotel’s exercise facilities while Shiro and Allura focus on some last minute details for the next day. Keith decides (seeing as he has no real job to do) to stroll through the halls of the massive hotel, hopefully killing the time in between now and whenever it is they’re heading out for the night. Shiro and Allura had suggested exploring the city’s shops downtown then heading to dinner together, probably to keep everyone’s minds off the impending doom of tomorrow’s competition. So he doesn’t have much else to do but waste time.

He’s just finishing his lap of the third floor (finding little of interest anywhere) and hopping into the elevator to head down another floor when a soft, smooth voice calls after him.

“Hold the door!”

He jams his hand against the closing elevator doors in time to see a tall, blonde woman, probably around his age, job towards him. An equally tall man is right behind her, lanky and somewhat disheveled-looking with a mop of sandy hair. She seems to be put together with care, both in looks and in presentation, whereas he is far more casual and easy going, hair tucked into a slouchy beanie. They both jump in beside him and Keith removes his hand to let the doors close. The woman reaches forward to press the lobby button before turning to him.

“Thanks,” she smiles, the expression sitting strangely on her angular face, as if it’s not something she does often, and the man beside her nods in agreement.

“No worries,” he nods politely and turns ahead with the assumption that that’s as much of a conversation they’ll share.

However, he quickly begins to feel her eyes staring boldly on the side of his face and, as much as he tries to ignore it, he eventually turns to her again. She doesn’t look away, clearly unbothered by his attention, and continues taking him in with sharp, analyzing eyes. Keith tries not to squirm under her calculating eyes, but the constant staring quickly becomes uncomfortable.

He clears his throat, frowning at her. “What?”

Slowly, with an amused glint in her eye, she raises a high-arched brow at him. “You don’t have much tact do you?”

“You’re staring at me,” Keith narrows his eyes somewhat accusingly as he tries to keep his voice level.

“I don’t recognize you is all.” She tosses a long lock of straight, blonde hair over her shoulder with a flick of her hand. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in other competitions.”

“I’m not a figure skater.”

“Ahh,” she nods in understanding. “That explains it! I mean, you definitely don’t look the part so I was pretty confused.”

Keith, taken aback by the abrasiveness coming from someone he literally met less than two minutes ago, ignores her and the twinge of annoyance in his gut. Unfortunately for him, she doesn’t take his silence the way he intends it and continues on with her thought.

“Although, we certainly wouldn’t mind skating next to someone like you.” She grins, this time with more deliberate cattiness than pleasantness. “It would make winning gold that much easier.”

Keith can only frown at her in confusion at this point, his eyes darting to the man who seems to be actively ignoring the entire conversation happening right beside him, his own eyes locked on the glow of the descending floor numbers above the door.

The girl is waiting for a response so Keith looks to her once more. “Um, okay?”

That doesn’t seem to be the reply she’s expecting and her eyes narrow. She’s on the verge of spitting out another bite of snark when the elevator speakers chime loudly and the doors slide open.

“Oh well,” she shrugs peering out to the lobby floor. “Guess it doesn’t matter anyways.” The man steps out before her and she puts on another forced smile for Keith, wiggling her fingers at him while she steps out of the elevator. “Thanks again for holding the door!”

 

His phone buzzes from the nightstand beside him, the room suddenly illuminated by his screen before Keith’s hand finds it. He pressed it to his chest and peers across the room to his brother’s sleeping silhouette, the dim streetlights filter in through the sheer curtains enough for Keith to just barely make out Shiro’s profile. Keith waits, phone screen still covered, but his brother doesn’t stir. It’s far earlier than Keith usually goes to bed so he’s been laying wide awake for over an hour, unable to silence his mind. The others had left a while ago, tired from their long afternoon on the town and Shiro had passed out not longer after, leaving Keith to stare at the pristine, white ceiling and hope sleep would grab onto him soon.

Clearly, sleep had not come to him.

So, hoisting the blankets above his head to keep from waking his brother with the light, Keith swipes open his phone.

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (22:13)**

**are you asleep?**

 

Keith ignores the flutter in his chest as he stares back at the waiting words. He also tries not to think about Lance, so many hours away, lying in bed while he hopefully stares at his phone. He’s sure he’s reading into it too much; Lance probably already tried everyone else and Keith is the only one left awake. He can’t quite seem to help the wandering of his thoughts, however…

 

**Keith (23:14)**

**unfortunately not**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (23:14)**

**Hotel beds uncomfortable?**

 

**Keith (23:14)**

**nah they’re fine. I’m just not used to sleeping this early**

**why are YOU up?**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (23:15)**

**would you judge me if i said i was nervous for my friends?**

 

**Keith (23:15)**

**no**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (23:15)**

**well then, yeah. i’m nervous.**

 

**Keith (23:15)**

**i don’t think you’re the only one tbh. allura and shiro have been jittery all day too**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (23:16)**

**we’ve all been in their shoes. it’s pretty terrifying**

 

**Keith (23:16)**

**it seems like it**

**i met another skater today in the hotel and she seemed… interesting**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (23:16)**

**catty? mean? vicious?**

 

**Keith (23:17)**

  1. **d) all of the above**



 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (23:17)**

**Welcome to figure skating competitions. We have snotty people for days.**

 

**Keith (23:17)**

**at least i’m not the one competing against them**

**how was work by the way?**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (23:18)**

**teaching classes you mean?**

 

**Keith (23:18)**

**you said you had to work this weekend**

**isn’t that why you couldn’t come?**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (23:18)**

**yup.**

**work was fine. we ended early to help coran at the rink**

 

**Keith (23:18)**

**well that’s good i guess**

 

There’s a lull in the slew of messages he’s receiving and Keith begins to wonder if Lance has given up and gone to bed when his phone buzzes again, the light of the screen filling the small bubble of space beneath the covers.

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (23:20)**

**if i say something do you promise not to make fun of me?**

 

Keith literally frowns at the message, taking a few seconds to try to understand before responding.

 

**Keith (23:20)**

**Why would I make fun of you?**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (23:20)**

**just promise, okay**

 

**Keith (23:20)**

**alright.**

**i promise.**

 

Another pause - shorter this time.

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (23:21)**

**Thank you.**

**for going with them, i mean**

 

**Keith (23:21)**

**why would i make fun of you for that?**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (23:21)**

**shut up and take the thanks, mullet**

**honestly thought it means a lot that you’re there when i can’t be**

 

**Keith (23:22)**

**its no big deal**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (23:22)**

**it is. you don’t see it but it is.**

 

Keith isn’t quite sure how to respond, Lance’s sudden change of tone taking him by surprise. Even with so much space between them, he still feels the softness of Lance’s words. He tries not to let his mind wander too far ahead of him but the heat in his chest is only fuelling his optimistic thoughts. Before he can come up with a response that is even slightly coherent, a new message pops onto his screen.

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (23:24)**

**it’s late**

**you should probably sleep**

 

**Keith (23:24)**

**pretty sure that statement applies to you too**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (23:24)**

**the apartment is pretty quiet. It’s weird. so i dont know if i’ll be able to sleep at all**

 

**Keith (23:25)**

**you sure it’s just the quiet apartment keeping you up?**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (23:25)**

**well i did stop for a coffee on the way home**

 

Keith rolls his eyes at Lance’s defences. He already admitted to being nervous so he doesn’t have anything else to cover up.

 

**Keith (23:25)**

**that must be it, then**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (23:26)**

**i’ll probably just marathon some movies until i pass out.**

**whenever that will be.**

 

Keith hesitates before his next message, each letter he types is an active decision on his part. Even when complete, he stares at it for many seconds with his finger hovering over the delete button. He isn’t sure if it’s bravery or stubbornness that finally makes him send it but then it’s gone - it’s out there.

 

**Keith (23:27)**

**need some company?**

 

Each second that passes is agony to Keith, uncertainty mixing with the nerves that brew in his stomach, and he can’t do much else but stare at his message, waiting.

Just when he thinks that no response is coming, his phone buzzes in his hands.

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (23:32)**

**don’t you need to sleep? you have a busy day tomorrow**

 

**Keith (23:32)**

**not tired yet**

 

He’s not lying - he _isn’t_ tired. Although he won’t blame it all on today’s foreign schedule. Not when his heart beats so painfully in chest as two messages appear in succession on his screen.

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (23:33)**

**sure.**

**company would be nice.**

* * *

“Up.”

Keith is awoken by a pillow being forcefully launched at his head.

It lands with a dull thud and Keith jolts under the blanket still pulled over his head. His eyes are heavy with sleep as he slowly inches out from his cocoon to glare unhappily at his brother.

“There are gentler ways to wake someone up you know?” Keith groans.

Shiro reaches a hand out towards the curtains and shoves them aside, leaving Keith - a few seconds too slow - to shield his still adjusting eyes to the morning light. “See,” Shiro cross over to their washroom as he talks. “I _tried_ those ways but you weren’t responding and we are running out of time.”

“Time?” Keith rubs his face with the heels of his palms pressed to his eyes. “Time for what?”

Shiro’s head ducks back into the view, toothbrush sticking out from the corner of his mouth and muffling his words. “To get ready?” He frowns and takes ahold of the toothbrush to jab it in Keith’s direction. “ _You_ slept in and we’ve all been waiting for you to get up for over an hour. We have to get breakfast then get started on our prep work before tonight’s competition.”

Keith glances over to the now open window and is surprised by how bright it is from beyond the glass. “What time is it?” He reaches for his phone on the nightstand but finds himself empty handed.

“ _Late_.” Shiro disappears again, his voice slightly raised so it carries over from the cramped bathroom. “What time did you fall asleep at? There’s no way you went to bed at the same time as me and slept as long as you did.”

_Oh, right._

Keith pats down his sheets, running his fingers across the many layers of bedding as he searches. “Good question…” He drops his voice with a sigh, his left hand grazing something suspiciously cellphone shaped and pulls it out as he sits up. He swipes away his lock screen to reveal his messages to the most recent contact along with four unread messages.

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (1:11)**

**im guessing you fell asleep?**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (1:13)**

**you know... considering your sudden lack of response**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (1:17)**

**anyways sleep well**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (1:19)**

**and thanks**

 

Keith can’t do much other than blink dumbly at his screen while his brain slowly processes the situation. He doesn’t remember falling asleep or even _deciding to_ , it apparently just happened without him even realizing it. HE swings his feet over so he can sit on the edge of the bed and types in a quick response.

 

**Keith (8:11)**

**sorry for passing out on you. didn’t even realize i did it**

 

Shiro pads back to the foot of his own bed and Keith glares at him. “I thought you said it was ‘late’?”

“It _is_ late!” Shiro tugs a sweater over his head, flattening out his hair when he’s down.

“ _It’s eight in the morning_.”

Shiro gives him a look then, dropping his arms to his side with a sigh. “You are so damn lucky that Coach moved your practices to the end of the day. I doubt you’d even show up if it was anytime before noon.” He strolls away from him, the conversation apparently done, and heads towards the door. “Now _get ready_. I”ll be in the others’ room so come meet us when you’re done.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Keith waves him off as he stretches, pulling himself to his feet when the click of the door reaches his ears. He’s halfway through pulling off his t-shirt when he remembers something. He abandons his search for a clean(er) shirt in favour of his discarded phone, the lock screen clear with a lazy stroke of his thumb.

 

**Keith (8:15)**

**and you’re welcome**

* * *

The last few minutes before the competition officially begins are quickly slipping away from them. They’ve worked through some small fixes, but Shiro refused to let them do much else - warmups and stretching were all they were going to get now.

Shiro had reserved Keith’s seat a few days ago, as he apparently isn’t allowed to stay backstage with them, so he isn’t worried about losing it to the fanatic spectators pouring in. At this point, Keith is going to soon be forced away anyways, or so the event coordinators have informed him, to allow the skaters and their coaches the appropriate space to prepare. They have another ten more minutes before all friends and family have to leave - as per their rules. Keith isn’t very fond of the idea of leaving but, at the same time, he was kind of looking forward to experiencing the entire competition from the average audience member’s point of view. He’s only really seen them skate from his own perspective, as an inherently biased friend, and he wants to be blown away with the rest of the crowd.

About fifteen minutes ago, Shiro had sent Pidge and Hunk off to prepare on their own - however it is they plan to do that. An inquisitive look shot in Allura’s direction had informed Keith that they each had their own superstitious rituals for competitions. With nosey curiosity, Keith had watched them from across the room. Pidge wasted no time in finding an empty chair far off to the side, popped in some headphones, then dug around in their bag for something. Hunk had ducked away from them, cell already pressed to his ear, and just before he slipped from earshot, Keith heard a happy greeting in a language he doesn’t recognize. Now, with the room slowly emptying of skaters and their respective families, Keith leans closer to Allura who is re-reading an extremely detailed itinerary for the night.

“Alright, I’ll bite.” He nods over to Pidge and Hunk, both still occupied with whatever they’re doing. “What _are_ their pre-competition habits?”

“Ah - yes.” She places the itinerary in her laps and follows his gesture over to Hun, speaking cheerfully into his phone. “Hunk calls home before every competition. It helps him ease his nerves and also allows him to keep them up to date on the events, since they can’t always attend.”

Keith frowns, first at her then toward the grinning man across the room. “What does he do when they _can_ attend?”

“Calls them in the stands.” Allura replies matter of factly. She then turns to where Pidge sits, eyes closed with a bright orange bag of something in their lap. “And Pidge - our dear Pidge - eats an entire bag of cheetos while listening to their routine’s music.”

“An -” Keith can barely hold back the bubble of disbelieving laughter at her response. “ _What_?”

Allura sighs, like she’s suddenly very tired, and nods. “They were nervous before a big competition many years ago and stress-ate an entire bag without realizing it. They then proceeded to skate the best they had all year, earning a personal best score with ease. They refuse to do anything else before competitions now.”

“Oh my god.” Keith is torn between feeling disgusted and feeling impressed as he stares off at them. “I”d be worried. Y’know… about -”

“- them hurling mid-way through a routine?” Shiro appears then, dropping in the empty seat next to Allura with a sigh of his own. “Trust us, we’ve tried to get them to give it up - practically begged a few times - but they’re stubborn.”

“Thankfully nothing has ever… _gone wrong_ , so to speak.” Allura adds. “Although that does not erase our fear that one day it will.”

Shiro shakes his head, his eyes dead inside. “I’ve dreamt of it more times than I’d care to admit.”

“Honestly, it’s kind of impressive.” Keith laughs, to himself more than anyone. “I’m a little in awe of them.”

“Do _not_ tell them that.” Shiro warns with his signature older brother look. “It will only encourage them.”

“I don’t think they need any encouragement, to be honest.”

“Unfortunately, they don’t.” Shiro swipes a hand through his hair then glances at his watch. “Anyways, it’s time for you to go. On-ice warm ups start soon and you need to get to your seat.”

 

It isn’t long after that Hunk and Pidge, along with the other pairs, ease onto the ice, their faces composed into various serious expressions. People are still settling into their seats but that doesn’t stop the buzz of excitement from rolling through the crowd when the first pair steps into a smooth lift. Shiro was telling him that the competitors usually take this time to work through the easier components of their routines (although they still look horrendously complicated to Keith) and get a feel of this new rink. Keith does this in his own games - it’s especially helpful when playing off of home ice - so it’s almost comforting to see a slice of familiarity in the mess of novelty surrounding him. His own nervous jitters calm slightly as he leans back in his seat to watch the skaters loop around the rink.

Inside his pocket, his phone buzzes twice in quick succession.

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (19:23)**

**they’ve got to be starting soon, right?**

**god im nervous**

 

Keith stares at his screen in mild amusement and types in a response, glancing up at the rink occasionally to keep an eye on his friends.

 

**Keith (19:23)**

**do you have some sort of sixth sense for this kind of thing?? how do you know that?**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (19:23)**

**allura sent me their itinerary and i’ve been checking it all day**

 

**Keith (19:24)**

**Ironically so has she**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (19:24)**

**not surprising honestly**

**OKAY BUT HAVE THEY STARTED YET OR NOT?**

 

**Keith (19:24)**

**not yet. i think theres only a few minutes left before it starts but either way they’re second to last so we’ve got quite a while to wait**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (19:25)**

**If you dont keep me updated i will FIND YOU, mullet**

 

**Keith (19:25)**

**how threatening**

 

A melodic beep comes over the speakers then, short but loud, and the skaters all quickly make their way towards the rink doors.

 

**Keith (19:25)**

**things are happening**

**i’ll update you in between routines**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (19:25)**

**i want to know everyone’s scores as soon as you get them!**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (19:26)**

**ugghhh i want to be there SO BADLY**

 

**Keith (19:26)**

**get back to work, lance. i’ll let you know**

 

Every single routine he sees in this damn competition is honestly mind blowing to Keith.

He’s seen a few full routines at the rink, but none of them were done in what Keith can only describe as “performance mod”. Something seems to switch on in these skaters as soon as they take their places at centre ice and wait for their music to start. There’s something _more_ to how they skate. Not just in technique or skill but in intangible qualities. There’s a whole other layer to performing routines and Keith is realizing just how contagious it is.

Keith doesn’t even know these people but he can feel something toward them - _for them_ \- from their skating alone. Every fluid extension of a movement, every high point of a lift pulls something different from him. He can see it, laid it out on the ice with such precision - a narrative that he can only barely grasp the edges of in, woven between the two skaters in front of him.

 

It only takes two routines for him to be completely and utterly hooked.

 

As promised, he updates Lance as often as he can. Most of it - especially the scores - fly right over Keith’s head, but that doesn’t bother him. He’s too excited to care.

 

**Keith (19 :53)**

**this is…**

**holy shit.**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (19:53)**

**RIGHT?**

**IT’S THE BEST.**

 

**Keith (19:54)**

**they’re just so - i dont even know what word to use but they are it times a hundred**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (19:54)**

**try BEING them**

**skating routines like that is the most incredible thing you could ever do**

 

What _would_ that be like? If they can evoke such intensity from him, without him even knowing them, what would it feel like to actually be them? It must be exhilarating; beyond any of the adrenaline he’s felt from hockey. And if his own pathetic recital is anything to go off of, he knows for certain that a _real_ recital and routine would completely sweep him off his feet. Lance only had to plant the seed in his mind for its roots to immediately grab ahold of Keith’s attention. He’s already completely infatuated with what he’s seen so far, so it comes as no surprise to him that his imagination takes the reigns so quickly. Before it can get _too_ far, however, a new message appears on his screen.

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (19:57)**

**it sometimes makes me miss pairs if im honest**

**what you have with your partner, you dont have that with anyone else. you cant.**

**yeah... i miss it.**

 

Keith isn’t sure how to respond to that - isn’t sure there even _is_ anything to say. And it also feels like he’s missing years of context behind those few words, they felt too heavy to be a flat statement. He lets their message sit there as the next pair glides onto the ice, but he can’t ignore the weight of it, his phone like lead in his palm.

 

Every passing routine only further fuels Keith’s enthusiasm. He’s in awe of the skaters, completely enraptured with their skill, but also… a little jealous. He can’t help but envy them, not matter how much he tries to ignore it. This feeling doesn’t fade when the announcer’s voice comes over the speakers, introducing two familiar skaters to the ice. Keith fumbles for his phone, his heart rate suddenly elevated.

 

**Keith (20:34)**

**they’re up oh my god they’re next**

 

The response he receives is nothing but various emojis, flitting through several different emotions and expressions that span from excitement to what looks like extreme terror.

 

**Keith (20:35)**

**tell me about it**

 

Now at centre ice, Pidge and Hunk slowly glide to a stop, eyes fixed on their feet. Hunk is dressed in a form fitting jacket, the copper-orange fabric bright against his dark skin with a pop of white collar flared out at his neck. Keith has good seats - thanks to Shiro - and the deep set of Hunk’s expression practically screams at him from this close up, a stark contrast from his usual sunny demeanour. Beside him, Pidge looks incredibly miniscule. Dressed in an off-white, bedazzled ensemble, they look so incredibly different from the person he knows. They’ve both composed their faces into a stern look of concentration, offering the crowd a few short waves as they’re welcomed with applause.

Keith’s nerves kick into overdrive when they finally settle into their opening pose that he’s seen so many times at their rehearsals. Arms outstretched, Pidge leans into Hunk’s arm with their weight balance on their picks while both of them look up and off into the distance. There are several beats of silence before their music starts and Keith can feel the anticipation brewing in the air. The music begins abruptly, breaking the tension, and then there’s no turning back.

Keith has seen most of their routine in small bursts, but not in full. Specific moves and transitions that they went over more than once are particularly recognizable to him but right now, seeing everything in one fluid string of movements, is like experiencing it for the very first time. Their first lift appears in no time, barely giving Keith enough time to prepare before Pidge is tossed into the air, arms held tight to their sides as they spin, and land without any hesitation. The crowd breaks into applause the second Pidge’s feet hit the ice but Keith is left behind - dumbstruck, speechless, and utterly incapable of reacting. It takes a few seconds for him to recover and he immediately ducks his head to type something to Lance, who has sent several insistent messages in the past few minutes, only to nearly miss their first synchronized jump. He sends a silent apology in Lance’s direction as he drops his phone into his pocket and leans forward in his seta. He’s not risking losing even a single moment of this experience and he’s sure Lance will understand that, no matter how badly he wants a play-by-play.

Pidge and Hunk have moved into a small sequence of footwork but Keith’s mind is already a few steps ahead of them. He recognizes this section of the routine and can feel their next big lift looming over them, dark like a storm cloud. They step into the preparatory choreography, hands linked between them, and Keith holds his breath. Hunk reaches for Pidge’s waist, guiding them closer to him as they both wait out the last few beats. With one swift movement, Pidge is air-born again and the crowd around them watches eagerly for their landing. There’s a slight catch as they meet the ice, their second foot just a little too low before they extend it out behind them, but then it’s over and they’re both continuing on. The violins filling the arena wail empathically as they then ease into their death spiral, the hiccup seemingly forgotten behind the crowd’s applause. The choreography grows soft alongside the music, Pidge’s hand held out only inches from the ice while the harmonies melt into something gentler. The atmosphere shifts too when Hunk pulls them back to their feet, losing its heavy power and morphing to match the melodic change, the violins languid like a lullaby.

Keith can barely respond to the sudden switch before Hunk’s feet slip out from under him, his weight just slightly too far forward during a jump. Pidge waits half a beat for him, letting him batch up to the choreography, then eases into the rest of the routine. Keith doesn’t know how Hunk can so casually move on, barely reacting to his fall, but he does. The people around him in the stands respond with various groans and clucks of their tongues, somewhere on the border between sympathy and disappointment.

They don’t make it much further in the routine before _Pidge_ falls, their face stopping inches from the ice as they throw their hands out to catch themselves. Both of them are finally starting to look a little shaken, bodies tense and faces betraying the tiniest hints of frustration. He knows they were nervous for this and, up until now, they hadn’t shown it during the routine. Nevertheless, they continue, reaching out to each other as the music builds once more.

Keith lets his gaze wander briefly to where his brother and Allura wait off of the ice. Their expressions are far more telling as they watch the pair begins their synchronized spin combinations. They stand close to one another, faces pulled into concerned frowns with their hands linked between them. They don’t seem to have eyes for anyone other than their students and Keith can practically feel the hopeful support coming off of them in waves. Allura seems to be mentally one step ahead of them in their routine, her eyes trailing in front of their current position on the ice as if anticipating their next movements. His brother, usually so calm and collected, is visibly on the edge of cracking as he clings to Allura’s hand with a nervous look in his eyes. Almost absentmindedly, she reaches down to fold her free hand over their joined ones, patting the back of his comfortingly without ever taking her gaze from the ice. For as nervous as Hunk and Pidge seem to be, their coaches are infinitely more so and Keith really hopes the pair doesn’t notice.

The music swells to a climax, the darker sound of the strings turned back to their melodic harmonies, and Keith watches as Pidge and Hunk move towards the tail end of their routine. Their lift, elegant and smooth, passes in an instant and the crowd cheers. Keith is deaf to the excitement however and can see the pair gather whatever they have left, link hands, and head into their very last set of spins. Their fatigue is blatantly clear, both the physical and mental exertion of the competition at last catching up to them, but they push through. They pick up speed, their bodies shaped into picturesque silhouettes as they let the music pull them on. He can see Shiro and Allura watching in anticipation then finally - _finally_ \- they stop. And the routine is over.

The crowd had broken into cheers before the music had even ended but now, with it gone, their roar is overwhelmingly immense. The relief that fills Keith’s chest is enough to knock him over and he leans back in his seat with a huff of breath to take it all in. Pidge and Hunk break their final pose, shoulders dropping and breath escaping them in a visible rush. They share a look Keith can’t quite decipher before colliding in a fierce hug. Pidge nearly disappears in their partner’s huge form and Keith can only laugh at the visual difference between them as they sway slightly, neither letting go of the other. They seem like complete opposites to an onlooker but they click and know each other in a way most people don’t understand. Lance even said it: you don’t have that kind of connection with anyone else. Keith believes him. He can see it in Shiro and Allura, in Hunk and Pidge, and even in the rest of the pairs today. It’s so plainly clear to anyone looking in on them that there is more to that relationship than hard work and friendship, it’s something that can’t be faked or replicated.

Eventually the two down on the ice step away from each other, bow to the still cheering crowd, then slowly make their way to where Shiro and Allura wait. They’re greeted with excited smiles and strong hugs from each of their coaches, Allura swiping the hair from their faces as she speaks to them. Shiro passes them each a pair of skate guards just as Keith feels his phone buzz in his pocket. There are several messages waiting for him but he scrolls down to the latest one, pretty certain what they’re all about anyways.

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (20:41)**

**YOU ARE LUCKY THAT IM SEVERAL HOURS AWAY BECAUSE I COULD KILL YOU RIGHT NOW**

 

**Keith (20:41)**

**alright alright relax im back**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (20:41)**

**HOW DID THEY DO**

 

**Keith (20:42)**

**they were amazing honestly i can’t believe it**

**they tripped a few times but they still nailed it**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (20:42)**

**of course they did. they’re hunk and pidge so why wouldn’t they?**

**do you have the scores?**

 

**Keith (20:42)**

**not yet**

 

Back down near the ice, the group has made their way over to a small space off to the side while they wait for their scores to be announced. Hunk raises a hand to wave at the crowd staring down on them, pulling another cheer from the spectators, and Keith can see the relief spelled out on his face, clear and bright. Pidge seems a little more anxious as they wait, bouncing nervously in their seat enough for Shiro to lay a steady hand on their shoulder. He seems much calmer than he did during the routine; Keith suspects he’s just as happy to have this over with.

The booming voice of an announcer rings out over the arena and Keith feels his breath freeze in his chest. There’s only one pair left so all they need is at least silver to be guaranteed a metal.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, the scores for Katelyn Holt and Hunk Garrett.” The sound of shuffling papers only barely audible before they continue. “With a final score of 129.45 they are currently in first place ahead of Santos and Montgomery. Total ded - ”

The rest of the sentence is lost to the howling of the crowd - Keith included. The relief he shared with the others increases tenfold then, mingled with pure elation and pride. He knew they were good skaters but the title of Gold Medalist Skaters impresses him beyond belief. Of course, there’s still one pair left to skate but Keith honestly doesn’t care, he’s staying on cloud nine for as long as he can. Keith pulls his attention back to his friends, now celebrating with their coaches with one enthusiastic group hug, any traces of anxiety or stress wiped from their faces. They eventually pull apart and Keith sees them all share ecstatic looks before turning to extended one last wave to the crowd. They’re soon ushered to their feet by a staff member as the event prepares for the next pair to begin the last routine of the night. Keith waits until they’ve completely disappeared from sight to look back at his phone.

 

**Keith (20:46)**

**so guess who’s in first place**

 

He receives yet _another_ long string of emojis in response, some of which he doesn’t even recognize but he gets the gist of it all the same.

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (20:46)**

**WHAT WAS THEIR SCORE**

 

**Keith (20:47)**

**129.45 i think**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (20:47)**

**well damn**

 

**Keith (20:47)**

**i guess that’s good?**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (20:47)**

**it isn’t a personal best for them but it’s good.**

**definitely good.**

 

“Next to the ice -” Keith’s vision is pulled briefly from his phone by the next pair’s introduction, but he quickly looks back down while the announcer rambles on.

 

**Keith (20:48)**

**well the last pair is up now**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (20:48)**

**let’s see them beat 129**

 

The pair takes to centre ice, settling into their starting poses with stern and composed expressions. Keith catches a better look at them then and quickly recognizes the woman, her lithe figure accentuated by a sheer, flowing skirt while she bears that same forced smile from the elevator. She looks briefly to her partner - the quiet guy she was with yesterday - and reaches out to share one last moment before they start. He offers her a quick, soft smile that feels far more genuine than her own, then turns away from her again as he waits for the music to start. They both seem calm, collected, and focused - the end may be within their sight but they’re dead set on what’s right in front of them, giving no room for distractions. The woman in particular has a competitive glint in her eyes, chin held up in pride, and something tells him they aren’t a pair to be brushed aside.

The music starts, slow and fluid, and they very quickly prove his suspicions. They ease through their choreography, exuding effortless skills as they step through lifts, spins, and jumps like they’re nothing. Keith keeps hoping for something - for them to trip or at least fumble - but nothing happens and they continue on in incredible synchronization, seemingly without even trying. The crowd was immediately pulled in by the story they’re painting and, as much as Keith is rooting his friends, he finds _himself_ a little captivated by their emotive movements.

Although, he can’t seem to shake the feeling that they’re… well, mainly that _she_ is somewhat disingenuous. She’s too affected in her gestures, beyond even a performance level, and it’s rubbing Keith the wrong way. She appears to be enjoying the spotlight too, feeding off of the attention they’re both receiving with a grin. She’s the centre piece of the routine and Keith can tell she doesn’t mind it one bit.

They’re nearing what feels like the end of the routine when Keith’s phone buzzes again.

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (20:51)**

**so?**

 

**Keith (20:51)**

**umm...**

**they’re good**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (20:51)**

**shit**

**ugh let me know when you get the scores**

 

Keith glances up as the music subsides and the crowd erupts into cheers. The pair, now breathing heavily from their exhaustive routine, cling onto each other in elated relief. They seem only a moment away from breaking into tears, obviously pleased with their performance - which Keith doesn’t blame them for… It was one hell of a show. They pull away at last and the man looks up to take it all in, waving to the crowd in acknowledgement and thanks. The woman has turned away as well, her face showing disbelief and shock as she looks to the audience. Keith senses theatrics in her behaviours, turned to the stands to keep some attention on herself while she continues on with her celebrations. Everything about her is just slightly too artificial. Not enough to be blatantly obvious, but enough to spark Keith’s suspicions.

Eventually, once the cheering has somewhat subsided, they head off toward the boards to greet their coach. A thin, older woman with piercings eyes offers them both a pat on the shoulder, while they’re promptly lead away to wait for their scores.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Keith sees them absentmindedly link hands when the announcer’s voice echoes through the arena. He quickly turns his attention back to his phone.

 

**Keith (20:55)**

**here we go**

 

“- a total score of 142.02, bringing them to first place.”

The crowd breaks into another painfully loud roar while the pair and their coach celebrate together, the tears finally spilling over from their eyes. Keith feels his breath escape him in a long sigh just as the first twinge of disappointment settles in his chest. He knows they’re in second place and that that is an incredible achievement in itself, but he’s been where Pidge and Hunk are right now. The gold medal is literally in your hand and you’re seconds away from everything you’ve worked so hard to achieve, only to have it ripped from your fingers. It won’t feel quite so sour in a few week’s time, but for now it probably stings something fierce.

He’s growing tired of watching the new gold medalists cling to each other and practically weep, if he’s honest. Thankfully, his phone buzzes and gives him an excuse to look away.

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (20:58)**

**I can’t tell if you not replying for this long is a good thing or a bad thing**

 

**Keith (20:58)**

**142.02**

**we got silver**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (20:58)**

**Fuck.**

 

Keith snorts out loud at that - how _immediate_ the reply was and how much it capture Keith’s current feelings.

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (20:58)**

**Wait that came out wrong**

**silver is good.**

**great actually**

 

**Keith (20:59)**

**It’s not gold. i get it. I’ve lost lots of medals in the past**

 

**Lancelot Knight in Shining Armour (20:59)**

**right. I keep forgetting that**

**well, at least it’s over**

 

For some reason, those words hands heavily over Keith as he looks up to the ice again to watch the winning pairs step out to greet the cheering fans.

Pidge and Hunk look happy - exhausted beyond belief,  but happy. Hands held over their heads as they wave widely, their faces are lit up by joy and enthusiasm. It doesn’t take long for Pidge to spot Keith in the stands, even from across the rink. He probably has Shiro to thank again for the front row seats. Pidge snags Hunk’s hand and begins dragging him with them, smile growing brighter by the second. It proves to be contagious, as Keith’s own smile is soon matching theirs halfway through their trip over.

“Keith!” They’re in front of him in seconds and rest their arms on top of the boards while they shout to be heard. “Silver! We won _silver_!”

“So I heard - congrats!” Keith can only laugh at their unfiltered excitement and the spark in their eye. Maybe they aren’t as bothered by having the gold medal snatched from their reach as he had thought. Hunk slides in beside PIdge, a few seconds behind them, and Keith takes a moment to look at them in turn, as earnestly as he can manage. “Really - congratulations. You were incredible.”

If there was any doubt that Pidge’s smile could get bigger, it’s quickly proven wrong. They’re practically bouncing in place, not knowing how else to cope with emotions, while Hunk slings an arm over their shoulder with his own smile growing more brilliant.

“I honestly can’t believe we did it.” Hunk shakes his head while Pidge turns to gaze up at him. “This all feels a little surreal.”

“Well,” Keith gestures around them, his eyes looking up to the high ceilings. “You better take it all in because this is really happening and you really did it.”

Both of them seem to be in some state of shock, eyes wide and cheeks flushed, as they stare back at him. He can only imagine the weight that’s been lifted off of them after spending so much of their time gearing up for this. They probably feel like they’re about to float off the ice and he can’t really blame them for being out of it - he would be too if he was in their shoes. Behind them, the other pairs gather together just as an event official steps onto the ice.

Keith nods out to the newcomer. “Looks like something’s about to start over there… You guys better get going.”

Pidge whips around at lightning speed, nearly knocking Hunk over in the process, and gasps quietly. They say something under their breath, barely a whisper, but it’s lost to the commotion of the crowd.

“What?” Hunk leans in towards them, head turned to better hear.

Pidge reaches up to grab him by the collar and shake him roughly. “ _Our medals_.”

Hunk’s own eyes sparkle with excitement as the realization dawns on him. He darts his gaze between centre ice, Pidge, and Keith - uncertain of where to direct his attention or what to do next. Keith only rolls his eyes.

“Go on,” Keith pushes at Hunk’s arm lightly with a smirk.

Hunk, who is barely containing his emotions at this point, allows himself to take a step away from the boards. Pidge, however, literally launches themselves at Keith and hauls him into a pretty aggressive hug. He lets out a surprised yelp, dragged forward in his seat by Pidge’s weight and taken off guard. They can barely reach him over the boards and Keith is pretty sure they’re standing on their toes, but they still refuse to let go, arms tight around Keith’s neck. It takes him a few seconds but eventually he recovers from the surprise and gently reciprocates the hug. They may be small but they are _way_ stronger than he expected, and even when Hunk joins in, his large frame easily enveloping them, his grip is nothing compared to the vice grip Pidge has on him.

It takes several pats between the shoulder blades and a small chuckle of amusement from Keith for Pidge to finally let go. The pair of them seem on the edge of some pretty intense emotions (and Keith isn’t far off either) so it doesn’t surprised him that he only receives a choked ‘thank you’ from Pidge before they skate off with Hunk toward centre ice. The people around him offer tender smiles when he looks over bashfully, finally realizing they had an audience during all of that, but he doesn’t keep his eyes off of his friends for very long. It isn’t until they’re all lined up, with the gold medalists in the centre, that he lets his eyes drift down to the last message on his phone.

 

It’s over.

 

And he isn’t sure he wants it to be.

* * *

“Alright Nationals Silver Medalists,” Shiro appears behind them, having finished packing up the car with the last of their bags. “You ready to get going?”

Pidge looks up to him, slumped into a large lounge chair. “We are but Allura’s still getting us checked out.”

“So you guys decided to put your feet while your coaches do all the work?” Shiro teases with a quirk of his brow.

“Hey,” Hunk quips back in mock offence. “We are taking a well earned break.”

Pidge nods in agreement and Keith snorts at his brother’s eye roll. His annoyance doesn’t feel very genuine when accompanied by an amused smile and he rests on the armrest of Keith’s chair.

“Well,” Shiro sighs. “We _do_ have at least a few minutes before Allura’s done so we might as well take advantage of it.”

Pidge looks somewhat surprised by his response. “Oh my god, if only you were that easily swayed during practices, we’d never have to stay late every again.”

“You don’t think _Allura’s_ the strict one between the two of us?” Shiro counters.

“Oh she is,” Pidge fishes out their phone and turns their attention to that, still talking. “I just know that she’s the evil mastermind behind everything and you’re just follow her orders.”

“Excuse me?” Shiro gawks at them but they keep their eyes trained on their phone screen.

“What?” Keith chirps up then. “Are you saying you _don’t_ follow her every whim?”

There’s a pause where Shiro hunts for some sort of retort, face pinched into a half-hearted glare in Keith’s direction, only to give up and turn his head away from them with a huff. “I am not going to encourage this conversation any further.”

They all scoff at his response and how obvious of a redirection it is. Thankfully, Pidge and Hunk continue their teasing without giving into his desire to drop the topic entirely even when Shiro does his best to ignore them. Meanwhile, Keith’s attention is pulled elsewhere.

The hotel’s main lobby is pretty quiet at this time of night, as most of the other competitors have either gone out to celebrate or have turned in for the night. Because of this, it’s hard to miss the very large presence stepping out from the elevator, blond hair scooped up into two high pigtails. Her calculating eyes scan the room and quickly hone in on the group of them across from her. She says something to her partner, who steps out beside her, and nods over to them, making brief eye contact with Keith. The two of them waste no time crossing the lobby so Keith leans forward and lowers his voice.

“I don’t know why…” Keith starts quietly. There must be something in his tone because they all pause in their conversation to face him and he quickly nods over towards the elevators. “But those two are on their way over here right now.”

They look up in time to see the now smirking woman standing in front of them, eyes gliding slowly over the group. Her gaze eventually settles on Keith and a spark of recognition comes over her. “Elevator boy! I knew we’d see each other again.”

“Uh…” Keith looks between her, the man beside her, and his friends, not understanding what’s happening. “Hi?” She only smiles, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. There’s a beat of silence that is too heavy to be comfortable then Shiro - his ever hospitable brother - jumps in with a smile.

“Nyma,” his voice is pleasant and polite as he grabs her attention and takes her piercing eyes off of Keith. “Nice skating today! It’s always a pleasure watching Hagar’s routines and you two bring her stories to life with such passion.”

The woman, Nyma, puts on that same artificial smile from the other day. “It’s pleasure skating them, too. Thanks, Coach.”

There’s a layer to her tone that hints at something Keith can’t quite grasp, too focused on the subtle bite of her words and how they sound like they’re _meant_ to sting. He glances at Shiro but he refuses to break eye contact, smile unchanged.

“And Rolo,” he turns to the man beside her. “You continue to develop into an even more incredible skater with every passing year!”

Rolo seems taken aback at first, clearly not expecting such easy praise from Shiro, but then he’s reaching up to rub at the back of his neck in bashful pride. His shaggy, brown hair, most of which is tucked into a beanie, falls partly in front his face when he ducks his head. “Thank you. We’ve been working our butts off so I’m glad it’s paid off at last.”

Nyma leans toward him and links an arm through his as she leans his chin on his shoulder with a smile on her lips. “He’s certainly one hell of a partner, isn’t he?”

The atmosphere around them very suddenly shifts from awkwardly polite to something much more tense. Shiro’s expression, which was perfectly composed seconds ago, falters ever so slightly and both Pidge and Hunk visibly stiffen. Hunk, in particular, scowls darkly, enough for the warm chocolate brown of his eyes to turn cold and threatening. Keith has never seen him so look so aggressive towards someone and it’s more unsettling to him that anything Nyma has done to date.

Probably feeling Hunk’s eyes burning holes into her face, she looks to him next. “Speaking of partners, you two continuously surprise me year after year.”

“What does that mean?” Hunk’s voice is coated in something much more antagonistic than rivalry or competitiveness.

“You’re such an unlikely pair, is all.” She shrugs. “No offence meant, of course - it’s just an observation.”

Neither Hunk nor PIdge seem convinced by her casual brush off of what sounded a lot like a criticism and continue to glare at her. She, on the other hand, is unperturbed by any of this and turns to Keith now.

“So -” She looks him up and down like she did yesterday, taking him in slowly. “You’re with Altea Arena… I thought you said you weren’t a skater?”

A hand falls on his shoulder and Keith looks up to Shiro whose brow is set into a protective warning. “This is my brother, Keith. He’s only just started with us so I’m afraid you won’t be competing against him this season.”

She pouts, all feigned and forced, but doesn’t take her eyes off of Keith. There are a few seconds where she seems to be still sizing him up before she finally starts again. “Well, may I offer you some advice, then?”

Keith is skeptical and unsure if he should take the bait. Nothing about her suggests that she’ll be helpful in any way or even that her intentions are at all good but his stubbornness is telling him to stand his ground, unwavering under her sharp eyes. “Fine.”

“You’re surrounded by professionals here, Keith. Many decades of experience are what you have to work with and against, and we both know that won’t be easy. So let me just say this...” She takes a step forward and Keith resists the urge to lean back when she invades his space. She tilts her head to the side, inquisitive and taunting all in one. “You don’t want to seem weak - especially not in this sport. You’ll only hold others back.”

It sounds more of a threat than advice, but Keith doesn’t care; he isn’t intimidated. Not by a long shot.

“Thanks.” He offers blankly. “I’ll remember that.”

It’s then that Allura suddenly appears behind Nyma’s shoulder, face settled into an expression that says she’s already lost any patience she may have had. Beside Keith, Shiro hisses quietly under his breath.

“ _Oh, shit_.”

He looks up to his brother in question but only gets a silent shake of his head in response.

“Nyma.” Allura’s voice is sickly sweet, very clearly not happy to see the gold medalist.

Nyma turns at the sound of her name, flicking her pigtails over her shoulder in one smooth motion. “Oh - Allura!” She smiles just a little too wide at her and her voice loses its chirpy lilt. “How lovely to see you again.”

“Indeed.” Everything about Allura is cold and bristling, s if she’s daring Nyma to misstep. She offers her very little attention, however, and quickly diverts her gaze to the rest of them gathered around. “We’re checked out and ready to go. Is the car packed up?”

Shiro nods, clearing throat before speaking. “Yup - it’s all done.”

“Great.” Allura sighs deeply before letting herself look to Nyma again. She doesn’t say anything for several seconds, only remains in her silent stare down with the other girl, and it seems no one knows how to react. Shiro looks like he’s torn between physically stepping between the two women and running _very_ far away from them. Keith doesn’t blame him, honestly. This is the closest to angry he’s seen Allura get and it’s _terrifying_ . He knew not to get on her bad side before seeing her glare so viciously at Nyma, but now he has even more reason to avoid pissing her off. Although he _does_ wonder what the hell ever happened to brew this hostility…

After an agonizingly tense length of time, Rolo steps forward to place a hand on Nyma’s shoulder. “We should get going.”

She looks over to him and her eyes grow softer, much to Keith’s surprise. “Ah yes,” she allows herself to be guided back a few steps. “We’ll lose our dinner reservations if we wait much longer.” She offers them a quick look, explaining curtly. “Celebratory dinner, you know?”

Rolo nods, his hand drifting from her shoulder down her arm to her own hand and leads her a little further away as he talks. “Anyways, it was nice to see you all again. Really.” He looks to Pidge and Hunk directly, then. “You guys were great today.”

Hunk looks like he’s biting back a mouthful of bile so Pidge steps in to answer him. “Thanks, Rolo. You too.”

He smiles once, small and quick, then begins pulling Nyma away toward the main entrance, She, of course, has to leave them with one final farewell thrown over her shoulder.

“See you next year!”

Then they’re gone, ducked out into the biting winter air while they rest of them are left to recover from that hurricane of a woman.

None of them say anything. They exchange a few looks between one another but Keith can’t stand the silence for much longer.

“Um,” Keith leans forward in his seat to catch one of their eyes. “Who the _fuck_ was that?”

Allura, eyes still dark, stares in front of her as she answer him simply. “Nyma Lemaire.”

Keith shoots her a _Really?_ look but she doesn’t notice. He turns to the others instead. “Great. Anyone else have a more detailed explanation?”

“We have some bad history with her.” Hunk adds in monotone. “She’s not one of our favourite people in the community.”

“Yeah, I got that.” Keith sighs.

“Wait,” Shiro starts with a frown. “She knew you, Keith.”

Keith meets his brother’s gaze and shrugs, shaking his head slightly. “We met in the elevator yesterday. I don’t think that counts as ‘knowing someone’.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Allura’s voice is as sharp as her words are curt as she does up her jacket. “We have to get going.”

“Allura -” Shiro starts to reach out to her but she fixes him with a warning glare.

“Now.”

And then _she’s_ gone. Heading out the same was at the pair less than three minutes ago without even waiting to see if they’ll follow her.

“What did she _do_ to make Allura act like that? To make _any_ of you act like that?” Keith searches everyone’s expressions for even a hint of an answer, but he comes up empty handed and his queries are brushed off when Shiro shakes his head dismissively.

“Nothing that needs to be repeated.” He pulls himself to his feet with a tired sigh and gestures for them to do the same. “Let’s get going. We’ve got one last long drive left to get through.”

* * *

It’s painfully late when they finally make it back to the arena. Well… _early_ \- as it’s several hours into the next day.

They had all agreed to help unload the gear at the Arena so that Shiro and Allura wouldn’t be stuck there for too long. There were at least a dozen other things Keith would rather being doing at this hour than haul several bags of skating gear into a dark and empty arena, yet here he is. Hunk, who looks like he could be sleepwalking, has several large duffel bags slung over a shoulder while leading Keith and Pidge inside. Pidge is probably a night owl, at least based on their level of alertness as they drag a bag of their own to the front door.

With his free hand, Hunk digs out a set of keys from his jacket pocket and jiggles them in the main entrance lock. He turns it easily, a frown pulling over his tired eyes.

“What?” Keith leans forward to get a better look at what Hunk is seeing.

“It’s unlocked.” Hunk sighs heavily and pops the key out of the lock to tug the door open. “Lance must have forgotten to lock it when he left tonight.”

Pidge reaches for their bag, which they quickly dropped to stretch their arms above them, when Hunk holds the door open for them. “Do _not_ tell Allura. She’ll probably murder him.”

It took over an hour of silent driving for Allura to return to her normal, non-murderous self and Keith definitely doesn’t want that to change. He’d heard from the others that Allura’s angry side is not a side he wants to be on, but seeing it first hand only further solidified that in his mind. And her anger wasn’t even directed at _him_.

“I think that’s a good idea,” Keith pats them on the shoulder just as they hoist up their bag and move to walk through the doorway.

Pidge looks over to him with a grin. “Either way, I’m sure he d- ”

Their thought is swiftly cut off when a fast moving figure collides into them. Keith can _hear_ the air rush from their lungs as soon as Matt connects with them, catching Hunk’s attention from a few feet ahead. He doesn’t even get a word out before _Lance_ slams into him at full speed, knocking the duffel bags from Hunk’s arms to the grow that nearly take Hunk with them. Keith stands, taken somewhat off guard, as the attackers cling to the pair and blabber on excitedly at an incredibly high frequency. He glances behind him only to find that Shiro and Allura, have also been pulled aside (although less roughly) by a bubbly Coran.

“Why are you _here_?” Hunk pries Lance off of him and deposits his bags on the ground with a muffled thud.

Lance, who looks like he just crawled out of bed judging by his tousled hair, stares at Hunk like the answer is obvious. “Waiting for you guys to come back!”

“It’s almost three in the morning!”

Lance rolls his eyes at Hunk’s dismay, but his bright glow of excitement never fades. ”Oh shush, you’d have done the same.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t scold you for it.” Hunk insists.

“Well, as soon as this guy -” Lance gestures to Keith, who is in the processing of discarding his own bag. “ - stopped answering my texts, I figured you’d all passed out for the ride. I was going to ask him for an ETA but since that was out of the picture, we decided to camp out in Shiro’s office to wait it out.”

Hunk pulls his disapproving gaze from Lance to squint at Keith suspiciously. “So _that’s_ who you were texting all weekend long.”

“Uh -” Keith’s brain slows to a painful stop as Hunk’s eyes scrutinize him. There’s just a little too much… accusation in that look for Keith to think up a decent response.

Thankfully, Lance jumps in. “Well, duh. I asked him to update me on the competition.”

“Uh huh.” Hunk raises an eyebrow at him, but Lance shoots him a look Keith can’t quite decipher so he backs down and Lance quickly changes the subject.

“So,” he folds his arms over his chest. “Nationals Silver Medalists, huh?”

Keith is sure Hunk is _trying_ to stay modest about the whole thing, but he catches the smothered flicker of pride in his posture as he replies quietly. “Well, I mean…”

“That’s right!” Matt hops in beside him, slinging an arm over Hunk’s broad shoulders while the other still holds Pidge against his side and hauls them with him. He squeezes them both and sways slightly. “My little sibling is a _National Champion_!”

PIdge, with their face smushed into their brother’s collarbone, snorts loudly. “We didn’t win gold, Matt, so I don’t think we can be called ‘Champions’.”

“Shhh,” Matt holds on even tighter, pulling a complaining groan from Pidge. “I won’t hear it - you two are _Champions_.”

Hunk only laughs and lets himself be jostled around by the much smaller man all the while with a bashful grin lighting up his face. “I can’t say I don’t like the sound of it…”

“Exactly!” Matt beams brightly from between them.

“Matt…”

“Nope.” He cuts Pidge off before they can even get out his name, finally letting them go with a shake of his head. “I’m not hearing it.”

Pidge is probably aiming for annoyed but their scoffs falls closer to amused than anything. “Alright, then. Why don’t we get back to unpacking so we can all go home and get some sleep?”

“Orrrr….” Lance drawls, tapping a finger to his chin.

“Oh no,” Hunk sighs heavily as he heaves his bags back onto his shoulder.

Lance glares half-heartedly in his direction before continuing. “Hey - all I was going to suggest is that we stay here tonight!”

Pidge gasps and jumps forward in excitement, abandoning Matt with the bag they had brought in. “We haven’t done that in _forever_!”

“Stay here?” Keith looks between them as Matt and Hunk head off in a separate direction with the bags, talking under their break to each other.. “All night?”

“Why not? We have our overnight stuff with us anyways!” Pidge hops over to him now and grabs ahold of his sleeve. “We used to do it all the time after competitions - you have _have_ to join us!”

“Uh -”

“Join us for what?” Shiro’s voice drifts over to them and Keith turns to watch him approach with Allura and Coran close behind him.

“Oh, Shiro!” Pidge, still holding onto Keith’s sleeve, almost starts bouncing in place. “Can we sleepover? _Please_ \- we haven’t had an Arena sleepover in _years_!”

Shiro raises his brows at their proposal and looks between the rest of them before he responds. “Don’t you think you’d rather sleep in your bed? You’ve been sleeping in the backseat of a car and a hotel all weekend long, surely you’d prefer somewhere more comfortable tonight?”

Pidge starts to shake Keith’s sleeve, then. They don’t seem to realize what they’re doing, their excitement overwhelming them. “We can pile up our coats and bags to sleep on! It’s fine! Please, it’ll be so much fun!”

Lance appears behind them, looking equally as excited. “Come on, Shiro. You know you _waaannnt_ to.”

“What an incredible idea!” Coran flies forward and claps a hand on Shiro’s shoulder. “I believe we have some popcorn stashed away in my office - what a perfect coincidence!”

“Coincidence, hm?” Shiro narrows his eyes at him disbelievingly.

“My dear Shiro, you should know by now,” Coran jabs a finger at his chest and offers him a wink. “Coran always comes prepared!”

Shiro only rolls his eyes, a soft laugh escaping him despite himself, and looks over to Allura. “What do _you_ think? This is _your_ Arena, after all.”

She shrugs and waves a hand towards Pidge whose grip has become so tight, Keith worries they might never let go. “I don’t see why not.”

“Well, alright then.” Shiro nods. “I guess that decides it.”

Both Pidge and Lance let out a _whoop_ just as Hunk reappears, with Matt close on his heels. “What did I say?” Hunk says with a sigh. “I knew he’d cave.”

“Oh I never doubted that.” Matt replies, shaking his head.

“Alright, alright.” Shiro holds up his hands in defence. “None of that. Let’s just get the car unloaded so we can all head to bed.”

Coran nods firmly. “Yes. And while all of you do that, I will prepare the popcorn.”

“Coran -”  What Shiro was going to say goes unheard as Coran practically skips down the hallway towards a nearby door, focused on the task at hand. His enthusiasm pulls a laugh from Keith who has begun making his way back out towards the car after handing off his current bag to Hunk when he offers to take it. Shiro falls in beside him and sighs. “Something tells me none of us will be getting much sleep tonight.”

“What makes you say that?” Keith ducks his nose into his jacket collar as they step outside.

Shiro gestures ahead of them to where Lance and Pidge walk, arm in arm, while they chant the word ‘sleepover’ in progressively louder voices. “They make me say that. Trust me, if you thought Hunk’s snoring was hard to sleep through, just wait until you get to experience the combined forces of Pidge and Lance during the early hours of the morning.

“Ah.”

“Honestly, as someone who loves his beauty sleep, you’d think Lance would be more interested in _actually sleeping_ instead of high school sleepover games.” Shiro raises his voice towards the end of his sentence, gaining Lance’s attention. He turns on his heels, releasing his hold on Pidge, and places a hand over his chest.

“Well, when you look as good as I do, you don’t _need_ that much beauty sleep.” He shoots them a quick wink before spinning back around, only a foot away from walking face first into Shiro’s parked car but somehow catching himself before impact.

Shiro rolls his eyes and stops a few paces from the car, gesturing for Keith to hang back with him. He obliges as he watches Allura distribute bags between Pidge and Lance with very detailed instructions on where they’re supposed to deliver them. Their excitement seems to be rubbing off on her, the tiny spark in her eye noticeable even in the low light from the night sky. She may try to act put together and professional, but Keith is starting to see a child-like playfulness in her that is constantly working to take over. He knows his brother and how much of a dork _he_ is, so it’s pretty likely that the woman he’s fawned over for so long is just as much of a dork, if not more.

“You know,” Shiro calls his attention back to him with a tilt of his head. “You can head home if you want. It’s a long ride I know but I get it if you’d rather get some time away.”

“Away?”

“You’ve been stuck in an enclosed space with us for several hours now and, having grown up with your introverted butt, I know you’re probably needing a break right about now.” Shiro’s voice isn’t accusatory or judgmental, just matter-of-fact as Keith frowns back at him.

“I mean…” Keith pauses to consider this. He’s tired - that’s for sure. It’s been a busy weekend and he certainly wouldn’t turn down the opportunity to veg out on his couch for entirety of a day, but he doesn’t feel as _drained_ as he was expecting. He enjoyed the competition. Truly enjoyed it. Even when surrounded by strangers in an unfamiliar setting, he was enjoying himself - and that’s such an incredible foreign feeling for him. Shiro’s right: he is, and always has been, introverted at heart. He likes how silent his apartment is when it’s only him there, counting the specs of his stippled ceiling. The silence is comforting to him.

But so are they.

Very rarely does he feel so calm and at ease around people - especially those he doesn’t know very well. His brother isn’t surprising, he’s known him his whole life after all, but Pidge, Hunk, and Allura… They aren’t exactly the kind of person he’d seek out in a crowd, and yet here he is, spending an entire weekend alongside them with no issues. In fact, he almost _wants_ to spend one more night with them, to accept Pidge’s invitation. He’s… almost _touched_ that they so easily extended it out to him.

“Um… I think -” He exhales slowly through his nose as his brother waits for him to take the out. “I think I’m going to stay.”

Shiro is visibly taken aback by Keith’s response. He can’t blame him, really. Keith has spent most of his life backing out of every and any unnecessary social interactions he can, but now he’s willingly staying - even when someone is giving him the opportunity to leave. Shiro glances at Lance and Pidge as they trudge past with the last of the bags stacked up on their shoulders. “You sure? You don’t have to, you know.”

“I’m sure.” Keith nods and shoves his hands into his jacket pockets. “I _want_ to.”

The mild surprise in Shiro’s expression fades slightly, replaced by a more gentle look that mingles with the tiniest hint of pride. Keith is a little uncomfortable staring back at him and his softening gaze, so he ducks his head and digs his heel into the gravel of sidewalk.

“Alright.” Is all Shiro says, his voice quiet and affectionate.

Keith doesn’t dare look up at him to see whatever face Shiro is making at him, and thankfully he doesn’t have to as Allura chooses now to stroll in beside them. “So,” she drops her hands on hips and looks at both of them with a smile. “I think that’s everything.”

“I think so,” Shiro affirms.

Keith risks a peek up from his boots to his brother’s profile now that he’s turned to Allura. There’s an air about him that Keith hasn’t felt in a long time, certainly not directed to him, and it stirs something deep in the recesses of his memories. It reminds him of those lazy, summer afternoons they’d spend circling the pastel coloured rink they drew with waterlogged chalk on their driveway. It reminds him of all the snack breaks they’d take in between goals, where the heat of the sun would melt bright pink popsicles over their khaki shorts. It reminds him of when his brother looked at him like a brother - not like a teammate or a student or an obligation.

“And Keith,” Allura glances over at him, yanking him out of his brief reminiscence. “I believe you’re staying the night, as well, yes?”

“Um…” Keith can feel his brother’s eyes fall on him again, but he keeps his gaze set on her. “Yeah… I am.”

“Wonderful.” She nods once and gestures towards the front door. “Well, good luck. And welcome to the team.”

* * *

Keith has no idea what time it is when he wakes up, but the view he has of the still dark parking lot from beyond the office window tells him it’s much early than he’s hoping it is. In most cases, he would just roll over and blackout for several more hours, but for some reason he’s wide awake _immediately_. With a sigh, he rolls onto his side to survey the room. They had all gone to bed pretty late in the morning (like Shiro had warned him) so it’s no surprise that Pidge, Hunk, and Coran all lay completely dead to the world in almost the exact same positions they fell asleep in. Propped up on a large pile of bags, Matt supports Pidge into a semi-upright position while they lay their feet over Hunk’s lap, who leans against Coran’s unconscious form. Matt seems pretty comfortable in this cramped space and something tells Keith that he’s camped out in places like this more than a few times. Keith vaguely remembers Shiro telling him something about Matt sleeping anywhere and everywhere he could during his University years - which doesn’t surprise him at all. Beside him, Pidge’s hair is a wild mess - more wild than it usually is - and brushes against their brother’s face, rustling slightly with each breath he takes. They don’t seem to care where they sleep, so long as their sleeping. Their recent road trip evidence of this. Hunk, similarly, looks just as content. His face is settled into a soft, relaxed smile as he rests his temple against the top of Corans head, all the while snoring quietly. While most of them look somewhat disheveled from the strange sleeping positions, Coran looks as immaculate as he does when he’s awake. His moustache is perfectly coiffed, his hair is curled into its effortless waves, and Keith swears there would be sparkles around him if it was at all scientifically possible. Keith’s sure that if there was a mirror around, he’d look like shit as he always does in the mornings - especially after such a late night. Thankfully, there are no mirrors anywhere near him so he doesn’t have to face that reality just yet.

Although, there are a few things that have changed while Keith was asleep. The spot where his brother had passed out, stretched out and blocking the office’s singular door, is now empty. As are Allura and Lance’s nests of fluffy winter jackets. Keith frowns as he slowly sits up on his elbows to get a better look of the room with a yawn. Nope, they’re definitely gone.

They may be in the same boat as him, having woken up way too early but unable to pull the cover of sleep over them once more. And since it seems like won’t be getting even another minute of rest, he might as well join them. With a long sigh, he pulls himself to his feet, dropping the coat he was using as a blanket in his wake and padding across the room to the slightly ajar door. He pulls it shut as quietly as possible before taking in the empty main hall, heavy with early morning silence. He isn’t sure why his feet lead him across the lobby to the rink’s entrance - perhaps it’s habitual at this point - but he’s there shortly, voices drifting off from the ice when he slowly eases the door open.

“Allura, _no_.”

“Oh, you’re just being melodramatic! I’ve been resting for weeks and we both know I’m fully healed at this point.”

“You can’t say that for sure.”

“It’s _one routine_ , Shiro - why are you so reluctant?”

Keith very quickly recognizes both Allura and Shiro’s figures close to centre ice, both sporting similarly stubborn postures as they continue to bicker, their voices echoing in the empty space. He only manages a single step down the aisle before he spots another figure, hidden off in the shadows behind the seats, also watching the pair of coaches argue with amusement in his eyes. It doesn’t take long for Lance to notice him either, his gaze slowly drifting up from the ice until it lands on Keith almost in surprise.

“You’re up early.” He whispers as Keith sneaks in beside him, glancing occasionally over to his brother and Allura as if to keep an eye on them.

“Couldn’t sleep.” Keith whispers back and leans up against the back of the seats. He usually sits so close to the ice, either in the first or second rows, but from this far away it looks so much smaller than it really is. He tilts his head to peer at Lance with a smirk, keeping his voice hushed. “Why are we whispering?”

Lance rolls his eyes but leans in beside him anyways, their shoulders nearly brushing with the movement, and nods out towards the rink. “So they don’t hear us, _duh_.”

Keith follows the gesture to where Allura now stands with her arms folded over her chest and a deep frown framing her eyes. “What are they even doing?”

“Allura wants to have a go at a routine, but Shiro is convinced her ankle still needs more healing. He’s stood his ground for quite a while, actually - I’m surprised.” Lance nods, as if impressed.

Keith snorts and shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter how long he tries, this is a fight he’s going to lose.”

“Yuuuup,” Lance pops the ‘p’ with a puff of air while they both turn their attention back down to the pair ahead of them.

“Shiro.” It seems Allura has given up on arguing and has instead resorted to other methods to convince Keith’s brother into caving. “Listen to me - I am perfectly fine. I have been teaching lessons for over a week now and nothing has gone wrong.”

Shiro shoots her a look. “Teaching lessons is not the same as skating a full routine.”

“Exactly!” Allura throws her hands up. “I’ve been nothing but careful since then and I’m sick of holding back! We can start with an easy routine if that will make you feel better.”

“It won’t.” Keith can only roll his eyes at his brother’s response. Shiro always likes to say that Keith is the stubborn one in the family, but he knows otherwise. Shiro is just as stubborn as he is, sometimes more if he’s particularly passionate about his stance, and he’s only proving that right now.

Allura is probably thinking similarly, giving up on convincing him entirely to glide a few feet away from him. “Fine. I”ll just run through a routine on my own.”

“Allura -”

“I skated in many solo competitions before you came along, Shiro.” She turns her back to him with a flick of her hair. “I will do this with or without you.”

Shiro turns his face to the high ceilings with a groan then follows after her, a retort already on his lips. “Would you just listen t-”

His hand only barely touches her wrist before she’s spinning back around with a stern look in her eyes to remind them all that she is just as stubborn as anyone else. “No, I will not. This is _my_ body, Shiro, and I know its limits. I know that you’re concerned and only want what’s best, but this is not your decision to make.” Her intensity briefly softens in the space between one word and the next, only enough to soften the edges of her words, and she steps an inch closer. “I need you to trust me. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? Trust each other?”

They stay like for several beats while Shiro comes to a silent decision. There comes a point where Keith feels like he and Lance really shouldn’t be here, like they’re intruding on something they _definitely should be_ , but then Shiro sighs and hangs his head.

“Which routine?”

Allura hops in place and claps her hands together, clearly enthused by her victory, while Lance snorts beside him. “As predicted, your brother is so ridiculously weak for Allura.”

“It’s kind of pathetic, to be honest.” Keith agrees. “I’m still surprised that he kept this a secret from me for so many years, especially considering how bad he’s got it.”

Lance looks over at him questioningly. “Kept what a secret?”

“Allura.”

“Wait, wait.” Lance turns more fully to Keith with confusion in his eyes. “You didn’t know how Disney princess head over heels your brother is for his skating partner of several years?” Keith shakes his head and Lance gawks back, flabbergasted. “What the hell? We all had it figured out within minutes of meeting them! You’ve known him your whole life so why has it taken you _this long_?”

“Well,” Keith drops his gaze, feeling a both a little defensive and embarrassed. “I hadn’t met Allura until I started lessons and Shiro never talked about any of this with me so…” He trails off, unsure of what else to say.

Lance frowns at him for a few seconds, the incredulousness lost from his expression, then tilts his head. “He never brought up any of his training? Or even his competitions? I don’t… Why?”

Keith shrugs and continues to keep his eyes pointedly away from Lance. “I didn’t really… _agree_ with his decision to leave hockey so that stuff doesn’t exactly make for good conversation. Besides, we didn’t talk a lot during his first few years with Allura.”

“But you guys are so -” Lance cuts himself off, pausing as if he’s searching for the right word but only sighs. The energy between the two of them has shifted so drastically in the past few seconds and the tone in Lance’s voice practically begs Keith to look up. He so badly wishes to ignore that, to smooth past this topic like it’s nothing and never have to see whatever look Lance is giving him right now. But Keith is not that strong, not when it comes to Lance, and he almost has no choice except to do just that - to look up and face him. It almost seems like he’s moved closer but Keith knows he hasn’t, it’s just something in the way he gazes over at him that _feels_ closer and more personal. Goosebumps spread over the back of his neck and into his hairline the longer the moment lasts but he can’t seem to bring himself to break it. Lance drops his voice into something softer and more gentler, continuing with small shake of his head. “I… I didn’t know that.”

Keith tries to act normal - if he can even remember ‘normal’ looks like - and shrugs again, looking between Lance’s eyes. “It’s no big deal. That was a long time ago so it doesn’t matter anyways.”

“What?” Lance seems taken aback by that. “Keith, no, of course it ma-” The sharp sound of skates scraping against ice catches their attention and they both turn sharply in its direction to spot Shiro quickly approaching the boards. “ _Shit_.” Lance hisses under his breath and grabs the fabric of Keith’s heavy hooding to yank them both down behind the back row of seats until they only barely peek over it. Keith watches as his brother leans over the boards and feels around for something, eventually producing a small bag which he digs through with a frown. Allura has moved closer to centre ice once more as she waits, half of her hair now pulled back from her face into a loose ponytail. She reaches down to fiddle with the laces on her skates while Shiro drops his bag back to the ground, his cellphone now in his hand, and begins tapping at the screen.

“I don’t think it’s still on here…” Shiro leans against the boards as he talks, still searching through his phone for something. “I’ll just look it up.”

“What are they -?” Keith starts but Lance shushes him, his hand now pressed against his shoulder to keep him still.

“Why are you so loud, oh my _god_!” Lance whispers so quietly that Keith has to watch his mouth to catch half of his words, trying desperately to ignore how close they are. “He’s probably just looking for the routine’s music.”

Sure enough, a few soft piano chords ring from Shiro’s phone speakers and he nods. “That’s it.” He pauses the song and turns to Allura. “It won’t be very loud but at least we’ll have _something_ to follow. You ready?”

She nods once. She seems to have settled herself in the time that Keith had missed as the air around her is much calmer and collected. Even his brother holds himself differently when he lays the phone against the boards, the piano starting once again, although somewhat louder this time, and he eases back over to her. They don’t meet at first, only smoothly circled around one another for a few beats as man’s voice joins the harmonies, then slowly reach out to each other and effortlessly step into the beginnings of their choreography. Allura is weightless on the ice. She moves like a soft breeze as she guides them through each lift, step, and turn. And it’s _her_ that’s leading them. Not Shiro. He make take her hand or reach for her waist, but it’s her that’s guiding him through it all.

“Oh wow,” Lance hums beside him. “This is a pretty old routine. I can’t believe they still remember the choreography.”

Keith nods but finds himself unable to respond in any other way.

He just spent an entire weekend watching pair after pair of skaters work through their routines with such skill and professionalism, but there’s something about these two that goes beyond that. He isn’t sure if it’s the privacy of the space, with only Lance and Keith now rising up from their hiding place instead of thousands of people gazing in on the intimacy of this routine. It’s a likely explanation, but he almost feels like this is a quality that only a few pairs in the sport share. With a routine like this - full of raw emotion and partnership - he finally understands how his brother came to fall so quickly. Not only for Allura, but for the sport.

All he felt at the competition this weekend comes back to him in a sudden rush, a bud blooming so brilliantly in his chest that he worries it might burst, and he finds himself _longing_ for something. Longing for whatever that intangible and unnameable link his brother and Allura have between them, and for the rush Lance talked about. He longs for all the things anyone has ever said about this God forsaken sport and it very abruptly knocks the air from his lungs.

On the ice, Allura leans back across Shiro’s shoulders, stretched out as he moves her through several different poses, all in time with the music. It’s all done so easily and yet he knows it’s anything but easy. He knows why his brother must have been hesitant to have Allura skate one of their routines. Even this one which (according to Allura) is ‘easier’, there’s so much room for misstep. She isn’t being tossed around like Pidge was during their routines, but he can see every opportunity for injury or for mistakes. And yet they never come. Allura, her figure so elegant against the stark contrast of the ice, pulls Shiro alongside her with gentle hands and a smile.

With the faintest hints of melody drifting up to Keith, Shiro lifts Allura onto his shoulder and fast spin. Keith, impressed, laughs under his breath. “I guess Allura was right about having to ‘trust each other.” He says to Lance, not bothering to take his eyes from the ice as he does. “I’d be so worried that she’d get hurt again if I was Shiro.”

“Mmm.”

“Or, y’know, getting _myself_ hurt again, if I was Allura.” He adds as an afterthought. “It’s pretty incredible that they can just jump right back into it. Well, I guess it took some convincing but still - the point stands.” He glances over to Lance when he receives nothing but silence as a response and finds him staring blankly ahead of him, eyes unfocused and wide. “What - are you okay?”

Still, Lance remains quiet. It’s as if he’s somewhere else entirely, completely unresponsive to Keith calling out to him.

“Lance, _hey_ , what’s wrong?” He reaches out to him, fingers only barely grazing his upper arm before Lance snaps back to the present and steps away from him in a jolt. His breath seems fast and uneven as he stares back at him nervously. Keith holds his hands up in front of him, like he’s trying not to scare him, and lowers his voice. “Whoa, whoa - it’s alright. What happened? Are you okay?”

“I…” Lance heaves out a shaky breath and takes one step back. Keith, not thinking, goes to follow him but Lance shakes his head, the movement sharp and frantic. “No - don’t. I’m…” He looks around him, his eyes landing on the door, and continues speaking without turning back to Keith. “I feel sick. I - I need some air.”

Keith drops his hand from the railing, his brother and Allura completely forgotten now, and watches Lance’s expression in concern. “Do you… need anything? Do you want me to come with you?”

Again, Lance shakes his head. His, usually so warm and so rich, is sickly in pallor as he finally turns back to him. “No. No, please. I just - I have to go.”

In only a few quick steps, he’s at the door, pushing it open with little regard for silence anymore. Just beyond it, Keith catches sight of a surprised Pidge with their hand extended for the handle only to have Lance nearly slam into them. They frown, start to say something, but Lance holds a hand up to stop them, barely pausing to offer an explanation before he turns and disappears from sight. Pidge grabs ahold of the door as they watch him go. They seem uncertain on whether or not to follow him, but in the end they only sigh and step past the threshold.

“What happened?” They ask when Keith catches their eye.

“I have no idea.” Keith stares after the now closed door. “All he said was that he felt sick and needed to step out.”

Their gaze briefly flits over to the ice where Shiro and Allura are slowing to a stop and Pidge’s eyes soften as they nod. “He just needs some space. He’ll be back.”

“Is he alright?”

“He worked a lot this weekend so he’s probably just tired.” They explain, stepping forward into the aisle and immediately changing the topic. “Anyways, how early did you guys even wake up? Hunk woke up to check on something in the control room with Matt, but this is early - even for us.”

Keith offers a half-hearted response about not being able to sleep, but he’s not really listening to what either of them are saying, his mind elsewhere. Something about the situation seems off to him - like he’s missing an important chunk of the story - but Pidge seems to be deflecting the topic so he drops it and lets himself turn back to the ice, ignoring the nagging at the back of his mind.

His eyes wander back to his brother, who now faces Allura on the ice, the routine apparently over, as she pats a hand on his chest with a smile. “See?”

“Allura.” Shiro warns, not sounding at all stern.. Just ahead of Keith, Pidge has already begun to back their way closer to the ice so he follows them while Allura continues on, as if Shiro hadn’t even spoken.

“Did I not tell you we’d be fine?” She teases and steps away from him, twirling so her flies out around her then moving into a slow arch around him.

Shiro watches her with only his eyes, arms folded over his chest as he shakes his head and tries to muffle the laughter that escapes despite himself. “Alright, alright. No need to rub it in.”

“Oh yes there is!” Pidge calls out to them, apparently not caring much for discretion and secrecy. Shiro and Allura look to them, as if just realizing they have an audience, but Pidge continues before they can respond. “You’re the only one of us who can get away with it, Allura, so please - keeping going!”

“Don’t worry about that.” Allura smirks at them as Keith steps up to the boards behind Pidge. “I’ve never held back before and I certainly won’t start now.”

“And that’s why you’re my favourite coach.” PIdge places a hand over their heart, earning a snort of laughter and amused smile from Allura. Shiro rolls his eyes but Keith knows he’s nowhere _near_ annoyed - he had _him_ as a younger brother after all. It takes far more than a few teasing remarks to get to him.

The pair start heading in Pidge and Keith’s direction only to stop halfway at the sound of Hunk’s voice.

“Allura!” Far across to the opposite side of the rink, Hunk waves a hand over his head. “Can you come here a moment?”

Allura turns towards him with an elegant spin and sticks her toe pick in the ice to stop herself. “Of course!” She offers Shiro one last smile, Pidge and Keith a small wave, then veers off across the ice to where Hunk waits. Shiro continues his skate over to them, hopping off the ice to drop into one of the seats and start on his laces.

“So,” Keith folds his arms over his chest, leaning back against the boards to watch his brother.

Shiro looks up at him, questioningly. “So…?”

“You know exactly where I’m headed with this.”

Shiro slowly narrows his eyes at him, dropping one skate to the ground. “You’re right - I do, and you better quit before you get there.”

“No,” Keith huffs stubbornly. “Shiro, come _on_ , this is getting ridiculous now.”

“Keith.”

“How many years have you two been skating partners, again?” Keith ignores his brother’s glare as he continues.

“Keith, this isn’t -”

“Not only that, but how long have you been dancing around this?” Keith runs a hand down his face. “Honestly, it hurts me to just _watch_ you two sometimes.”

Shiro pulls off his second skate and sighs, reaching for his sneakers tucked under the seat. “I really don’t get why you’re so hung up on this.”

“Because you -!” Keith groans loudly, cutting himself off. “You - just - _do it_ , Shiro! Just tell her for fuck’s sake!”

“Leave it alone, Keith.” Shiro stands up and Keith fixes Keith with a stern look meant to shut him up.

“No.” Keith mimics Shiro’s stares, standing his ground because this is getting stupid and he’s sick of watching Shiro gawk at her without ever _doing_ anything.

His brother reaches up to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “I don’t care what it looks like to you. I know what’s best here and I won’t sacrifice our relationship as partners and as coworkers just because _you_ say -”

“ _Oh my god_ .” Pidge throws their head back and groans. “I’ve had _enough_ of this.”

Keith watches as they turn on the spot to look out across the ice, pressing their hands to the boards as they lean over them. It takes a few seconds for Keith to catch onto their thought process, but then he’s there - hot on their heels with a grin.

Keith steps in between them and his brother as Shiro frowns suspiciously. “Pidge?...”

They ignore him, cupping their hands around their mouth as they shout. “Allura!”

Across the rink, she looks over her shoulder with one hand resting delicately on the boards. Keith sees her tilt her head, as if to ask for Pidge to continue, but they only wave at her to come over. Allura quickly says something to Hunk, who nods and waves a hand, before slowly making her way back over to them. She’s there in no time, coming to an effortless stop in front of them with an open smile on her lips. “Yes?”

All at once, Shiro figures it out. He steps forward with a raised hand, but it’s too late - Pidge has already started.

“Practice on Saturday has been cancelled.” They say matter of factly.

Allura frowns at them, eyes flitting briefly over their shoulder to Keith and Shiro. “Cancelled?” She repeats.

“Right.”

“Any…” Allura seems somewhat amused, albeit a little confused as well, by their sudden declaration, but plays along nevertheless. “...particular reason _why_ that is?”

Pidge jabs their thumb behind them at Shiro who, honestly, looks like he wants to melt into the cement floor. “Because Shiro’s taking you to dinner on Friday.”

There’s a pause then, the silence almost suffocating, as everyone but Shiro looks to Allura in anticipation. Keith isn’t worried about her response - not even in the slightest - but his brother is probably expecting the absolute worst and he’s an idiot for it.

“Is he, now?” Allura fixes her gaze on Shiro directly with a somewhat surprised grin. Shiro, helpless against her, can only look up, petrified.

Pidge nods. “Friday, eight o’clock. At that fancy restaurant a few blocks away. I’d wear something comfortable, honestly.”

Shiro steps forward then, literally shoving Keith aside, and places a hand on Pidge’s shoulder while he attempts a casual smile. “Allura. It’s fine, really! They don’t mean -”

“Alright.”

Whatever Shiro had intended on saying suddenly vanishes from his mind as he stares at Allura in a state of complete disbelief. “Wh -?” He struggles to get even a single word out, blinking dumbly in her direction while he manages a weak: “ _What_?”

“I said, alright.” She rests her hands on her hips and watches him carefully, a small teasing glint in her eye. “Unless you _don’t_ actually want to go…?”

“ _No_ .” Shiro waves his hands wildly in the air to completely derail that train of thought. “No. I-I _do_ want to, I just -”

“Great.” She smiles bright at him, no where near the bumbling mess that he currently is, and tilts her head to the side. “Should we meet at your place or mine?”

Shiro blinks at her, clearly stuck in a stupor and completely unable to answer her in an even _somewhat_ coherent manner. Keith feels like kicking him in the ass when Allura quirks a brow up at him, waiting, but he doesn’t have to.

“Yours.”

Lance strolls in then, clapping Shiro sympathetically on the shoulder while he addresses Allura. “I have a feeling that Shiro here will need as much time as possible to get ready, so I’d let _him_ come to _you_.”

They all stare at him in surprise. They weren’t exactly expecting his sudden entrance so they’re taken aback, but Keith watches him more intently, every gesture and too-easy smile blaringly obvious to him. He _seems_ normal. He’s calm and unbothered by whatever the fuck happened earlier, but Keith is still weary. If they were alone he’d ask him about it. Here, however, there are too many people and too many prying eyes for him to do anything else but stare.

“Fair enough,” Allura nods as she steps past the boards and snaps her black skate guards on swiftly. “Now, if you don’t mind, Hunk and Matt are waiting for me in the tech room.” She nods once at Shiro, who is still shell-shocked from what just transpired, offers the rest of them a quick wink, the strolls up and out of the rink.

For only a few seconds, the room is bathed in silence as the click of the main door echoes into the large space, but then Shiro whirls on them with betrayal and fury in his eyes.

“Now, Shiro -” Pidge starts as they raise a hand up, calmer than Keith would have expected them to be. “There’s no need to get mad here! Everything worked out in the end so be thankful for that.”

Shiro doesn’t stop his slow advance towards them, nearly pinning Keith against Pidge when he steps in to stop him. “You could have ruined _everything_.”

“By doing what?” Lance pipes up as he hops closer to them with a grin. “Securing you a date this weekend with the woman you’ve been pining after for years?” He scoffs. “Pidge did you a major solid, honestly.”

Shiro glares at him too, but Keith ducks in before the next World War can be declared. “Shiro, listen,” Keith steps forward to pull his brother’s attention over to him and away from Lance. “She said yes, didn’t she? If that’s the answer you wanted then what’s wrong?”

Shiro seems to barely take Keith’s words to seriously, scoffing loudly. “ _Sure_ , she said yes - to a dinner we’ve been on a hundred times! She probably didn’t take it h -”

“Trust me,” Keith cuts him off with a firm look. “She took it exactly the way she was supposed to.” Shiro stares blankly at him so Keith insists as clearly as he can make it. “A date, Shiro. She took it as a _date_.”

“She…” Shiro’s mind seems to be slowly catching up to what’s going on. “Are you sure?”

Keith nods firmly once. “Positive.”

The gears in Shiro’s brain _painfully_ click into place, one notch at a time, and Keith watches his eyes grow wider. “And she said… yes….?” He looks over at Pidge and Lance this time for further confirmation.

Lance looks almost bored, one arm resting on Pidge’s shoulder as he leans against them. “Yuuuup.”

The first hints of fear begin to creep into Shiro’s vision as he raises a hand to his hair and grips a fistful. “Oh _shit_.”

“Right?” Pidge snorts. “I’m kind of surprised she went along with it while we were all around.”

Lance rolls his eyes. “Honestly, I think she was just as sick of waiting for it to happen as we were. She’s probably over the moon that you gave her this out.”

“Shiro,” Keith puts a hand to his now panicking brother’s shoulder. “This is a _good_ thing, why are you freaking out?”

His head snaps up then, eyes locking with Keith’s, and he looks more frazzled than Keith has seen him look before any of their past games. “Because I have a _date_ with _Allura_ , that’s why! What do I do? What do I say? What do I _wear_?”

“Did I not say he’d need time to get ready? The guy’s gonna go through his wardrobe at least three times before he decides on something.” Lance adds as an aside, earning him a dirty look from Keith.

“You need to calm down.” Keith faces back to Shiro and tries again. “This isn’t some stranger you met at a bar, this is Allura. You’ve known her for years, Shiro.”

“Exactly - that’s _exactly_ my problem!” Shiro turns suddenly, scooping his skates off the ground in a flurry of wild movements. “I - I’ve got go. I’ve got lessons to teach, paperwork to fill, and a - a date to prepare for.”

Then, without so much as a chance for Keith to interject, he’s gone. They all watch the rink doors swing shut in silence, Keith mildly confused as to how his brother could be this big of a moron, until Pidge pipes up.

“Well _he’s_ gonna make a fool of himself on Friday.”

Lance laughs, stepping away from them as they yank they reach down to yank their bag onto their shoulder. “Twenty bucks says _Allura_ has to make the first move.”

“No way.” They slowly make their way into the aisle, too. “I am so not taking that best. If she waited him to do it would be another five years!” They wave quickly, just a quick flick of their hand, and take a few more steps away. “Anyways, I’m off. Matt promised to buy me breakfast and I’m definitely not giving up the chance for a free meal. See yah!” It doesn’t take long from them to stroll up the aisle to the same set of doors Shiro just pass through, leaving Keith and Lance to wallow in their own awkward silence.

Keith isn’t sure if he should say something…. About…. Well, about anything, really. What do they talk about? Do they continue their conversation from before or do they move on? They’ve been texting nonstop all weekend long, but now he can’t even come up with a _greeting_. Keith risks a glance in Lance’s direction and catches a quick glimpse of his profile. He’s tired, that’s for sure. The bags under his eyes that are far more obvious in the rink’s harsh lighting must have cropped up in the few days since they left for the competition. There’s a solemness to his expression, something darker and heavier than Keith can remember seeing Lance wear. It’s unsettling to say the least. Lance, still not looking at him, leans forward on the boards with a sigh. Keith steps in beside him and mimics his posture without ever pulling his gaze away from the planes of his features.

 

If Keith was a braver man, he’d extend his hand the few extra inches to where Lance’s rests, let his fingers ghost over the back of his knuckles, softer than air, and beg Lance to let him in.

 

But he isn’t.

So he doesn’t.

 

“Hey,” Keith starts quietly. “Are you -”

“How long do you think it’ll take Allura to realize she’s dating the dorkiest skating coach in the country?” Lance asks to the ice in front of them.

Keith stops mid sentence, confusion settling over him. “I… what?”

“Oh my god,” Lance’s eyes grow wide and, at last, he looks over at Keith. “This means we’ll be subjected to all of their PDA during practices!”

“Lance, I was -” Keith tries again but Lance cuts him off a second time.

“ _God_ , I didn’t even think about that!” He drags a hand down his face with a groan. “I’m starting to think setting them up was actually a huge mistake.”

“I don’t think…” Keith shakes his head and stands up from the boards to look at Lance more directly. “Listen I was trying to -”

“I know.”

Lance meets his gaze, then. The easy, joking spark in his eye is suddenly replaced with a desperate pleading as he watches Keith watching him. Whatever response Keith had disappears in a matter of seconds and he’s left to watch Lance press his lips into a tight line, holding back barely contained emotions.

“I know, and…” Lance breathes in deeply to steady himself. “Please don’t. Let’s just move on from it, alright? I don’t - I don’t want to feel like that right now…” He pauses, eyes darting over Keith’s face while he remains dumbstruck. “Not right now. Not… with you.”

 

There’s a break in Keith’s breath, a sharp stab between the ribs that sucks the air straight of them and leaves him stunned. He isn’t sure how much he was meant to read into that, but it doesn’t matter because he already did - a lot. He _wants_ to keep going wants to step in close and assure Lance that he can be trusted. Whatever it is that follows him in the shadows isn’t going to scare him off - he’s _right here_ for fuck’s sake so just talk to him.

But then he remembers how Lance used to shut him out, how’d he retreat to somewhere Keith couldn’t follow. He thinks of all the small steps they’ve taken that have lead them to his point, with Lance there beside him. Still there. He’s not running away, isn’t hiding - he’s leaving the door ajar. It isn’t wide open, but it’s enough for light to trickle out before Keith’s feet, asking him to just -- wait. To give him the space he needs to Keith through it on his own time, his own terms.

He desperately wants to know. His stubbornness is almost too much for him to back down from, but he knows this vulnerability far too well and he won’t cross it.

 

Keith sighs at last, the first sound between them after a considerable pause, and leans back against the boards. “I don’t think you need to worry about that, you know.”

“Huh?” Lance, although relieved Keith didn’t push the topic, seems lost.

“The PDA,” Keith clarifies, quirking a brow in his direction. “I’ve seen Shiro with partners and he’s the biggest chicken when it comes to affection. It took him six weeks to hold his last partner’s hand.”

Lance seems to catch on and allows a soft, amused smile to appear. “I guess that _is_ true. The guy’s such a puppy around her.”

“She’ll have him wrapped around her finger in no time.” Keith jokes, waving his pinky finger in front of him.

Lance can’t help the snort of laughter at that. “She already does.”

Lance moves onto a new topic with ease, his bubbly extroversion back in full force, while Keith admires how the slowly growing smile seems to hide the deep set lines of his brow and the bags under his eyes. He grows lighter, brighter, with every word and it lifts the heaviness in Keith’s mind, if only for a moment.

 

 _Yeah_. He thinks.

He can wait.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALRIGHT! so that's done at last holy smokes! this chapter was NOT working for me and i rewrote a lot of it, but it's done thank goodness! sorry for making nyma so mean T.T i actually kind of like her in-series but her role in OTI is not the nicest so................. ya know....   
> a quick s/o to sora (wolfpainters on tumblr) as it's her birthday!!!!!!!!!! happy birthday dude i hope you have a good one!!!!! (altho i'll still fight you)
> 
> as always, you can find us on social medias!  
> Author & co-creator: tumblr user wardenalistair. minadoraa on twitter.  
> Artist & co-creator: tumblr user soottea. sootttea on twitter.


	10. A Message from the Author

**THIS CHAPTER'S (NOW DELETED MESSAGE) IS NO LONGER RELEVANT BUT IM KEEPING IT POSTED SO I CAN REREAD EVERYONE'S LOVELY COMMENTS ILY ALL**


	11. Ice, Ice Baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /dan voice  
> A MILLION YEARS WITHOUT UPDATING, SHE COMES BACK WITH A CHAPTER
> 
> i have made it. i did it. holy smokes i can't believe it tbh. BUT HERE IT IS!! CHAPTER 11!!!! A WHOPPING 31K WORDS!!!!!!!  
> Anyways, I watched s3 today and it was literally a klance fic come to life and im in heaven. how are you enjoying the season??? please lemme know bc i love all of you and wanna hear from you
> 
> on a serious note: i adore all of you and your continuous support. if you don't mind, i'm going to keep the last chapter up 'cause everyone's comments were actually super motivating. so thank you for that. truly, 100% thank you thank you thank you. i hope this chapter was worth the wait!!! ENJOY!
> 
> oh and here's the routine in this chapter https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GCtBGfNE8dc  
> also everyone in this fic has been aged up above the legal drinking age so please dont come for me about anything. CW for alcohol for a good chunk of this chapter (nothing bad or unhealthy, don't worry)

After the weekend he had, Keith is finding it very hard returning back to hockey practice Tuesday night. Especially when their Coach is drilling them past the point of no return with little to no good things to say. He doesn’t know what it is about today that hs her in such a rotten mood but, here she is, nitpicking a few of their plays from Provincials for at least the fifth time since the game. His teammates around him look just as done with the situation as he is, sullen and scowling while she whips through criticism after criticism. There’s only so many times a person can be chewed out before they snap, and Keith is nearing that point.

“And Kogane,” she faces him as she singles him out and Keith grits his teeth. “Your passes were sloppy all game long - something I hoped was just due to nerves, but it’s persisted into practice as well.”

There’s a brief pause in her slew of aggressive remarks and Keith can’t stop himself from interjecting. “I had three assist in our last practice match, Coach.”

She’s taken aback by the interruption at first, but she quickly recovers and narrows her eyes at him. “And they were all sloppy, too. I swear, your head must be miles from the ice sometimes. What is the point in playing if you’re not even going to pay attention to what’s going on around you?” It almost looks like she _wants_ him to interject and who is he to deny her that?

“I had friends in the crowd.” He offers with an easy shrug. “Maybe I was distracted by the idea of something more entertaining?”

“ _Keith_.” His teammate behind him shoves between his shoulder blades with warning in his voice, but Keith ignores him.

Coach folds her arms over her chest as her eyes grow darker. “You are _captain_ of this team, Kogane. When you’re on the ice, you should be completely focused on that and only that. Maybe _then_ we’d actually play a decent game once in awhile.”

Before Keith can open his mouth, a hand finds his shoulder and a voice hisses in his ear. “ _Don’t_.”

He yanks his shoulder out of their grip and stares at his Coach angrily and incredulously. “But we _won_ Nationals. Doesn’t that mean something?”

“Medals mean jackshit when you played the way you did.” She scoops her whistle in between her lips, eyes never leaving Keith’s, and tweets it sharpy. “I’m done with all of you today. Go shower and head home.”

 

Keith’s irritation has barely eased by the time he’s headed towards the exit with his gear packed and loaded onto his back. Most of his team seemed equally as dejected, disappearing as quickly as possible so they could escape this mess of a practice. None of them wanted anything to do with him either. He can’t say he blames them, though - he was pushing his luck and he’s sure they’ll see the repercussions at a later date. But for now, he’s dead set on getting the fuck out of this arena and heading home to his shitty couch and even shitter food.

That is, if he was _able_ to. The sound of his coach calling over to him breaks his stride for a brief second. He’s very tempted to ignore her and continue on his way, but something in her tone tells him that could come back to him in in the butt, so he turns toward her voice with tired eyes.

She stands off to one side of the lobby, arms crossed as she nods for Keith to join her - not even bothering offering him another word. There’s an older man beside her, receding gray hair partially obscured by a cap, who also watches Keith with a careful gaze. His coach doesn’t seem eager to be seeing Keith so shortly after such a shitty practice (a mutual that is very, very mutual), so the man must have something to do with it. Once he’s within earshot, his coach nods at him then to the man beside her.

“Kogane - meet Frederick Layson. He’s the coach for the Bruins down South.”

Keith accepts his extended hand shake with a weak smile, looking between the Coaches uncertainly. “Uh - hi.”

“Keith -” He sounds like every other testosterone fuelled hockey coach out there, except with a bit more rumble to his voice. Keith wonders if the cigarettes he undoubtedly smocked where what flushed his skating career down the toilet and forced him into coaching or if it was an injury like Shiro. Unaware of Keith’s pondering, Frederick continues with a low laugh. “Hopefully I can call you that. Your coach only ever calls you ‘Kogane’ when we chat about you.”

Keith eyes his coach for a second before shrugging. “Either one is fine.”

“Great.” Frederick reaches out and claps a hand onto his shoulder. “Listen - I saw you play at Provincials and let me tell you: I was seriously impressed.”

“Well, uh, thanks.”

“I’m serious.” He pulls away as he gestures more widely. “Puck control, offensive power, defensive discipline, refined agility - and your fighting skills are something else entirely!”

His coach, with a roll of her eyes, adds under her breath. “You were _particularly_ rough that game.”

Frederick either doesn’t hear her or doesn’t care, appraising Keith slowly with a quirk of his brow. “Tell me, have you considered where you’re headed after you leave the Red Lions?”

“Uh -” Keith frowns. “Once I -?”

“Who am I kidding? Of _course_ you have!” Fred waves his hands to dismiss Keith’s stumbling, not even giving him enough time to formulate a response. “I guess I should just cut to the chase, then!”

He laughs, the sound too loud and too fake, and Keith’s coach sighs. “I guess you should.”

Fred faces Keith more directly, shoulders squared proudly. “We want you. The Bruins, that is.”

 _Ah._ Keith thinks. _He’s a scout._

“The new season is quickly approaching and all of us are eager to snatch up the best Junior players out there, so I’m sure you’ll be hearing from plenty of others after me.” He shoots Keith a wink that nearly makes him cringe. “But I wanted to be the first.”

“That’s…. Um…” Keith blinks slowly, not sure where to go from here. “Wow.”

“I get that it’s sudden, but I really hope you consider it.” Fred digs into his back pocket and quickly produces a business card which he hands to Keith. “Shoot me an email and we can talk details. Our budget has grown since last year so we’ve been able to raise our salary offers, as well.”

Keith looks down at the card and feels like everything is moving painfully slowly. His brain hasn’t yet caught up with what’s happened so he can only nod weakly with his eyes fixed on the card’s small print. “Uh, yeah…. Sure.”

“Great! I know you won’t regret it, Keith.” He smiles at him and offers him another firm handshake before Keith’s coach ducks in with an unsubtle clearing of her throat.

“Alright, then.” She nods off towards the exit, barely making eye contact with Keith. “You’re free to go, Kogane. See you next practice.”

She doesn’t seem at all interested in having Keith around for any long and, if he’s honest, he feels similarly. So with a final farewell to the still-smiling scout, he pulls his scarf over his nose and disappears outside.

 

It takes him a while to process what the hell just happened. He flips the business card over and over between his fingers as the rhythmic movement of the subway jostles him in his seat, and the rattling of the train over the tracks fills his ears. The only change in the monotony is the hissing of the automatic doors at every stop, reminding him of his voyage home as well as hauling him out of his circle of thoughts long enough for the first seed of panic to form in his chest. He’s almost halfway home when it gets the better of him and he pulls his phone out with nervous hands. He isn’t sure if his brother is available or will even answer him, but he doesn’t care, honestly - he just needs to do _something_.

 

**Keith (18:12)**

**so a scout offered me a spot on his team today**

**he saw me play at provincials**

 

Thankfully, it isn’t long before Shiro responds; the train hasn’t even made it to the next station when his phone buzzes and Keith jumps on it.

 

**Shiro (18:14)**

**That’s amazing! Congrats!**

**Have you met with any other scouts, yet? Drafting season is still pretty far away so you probably still have a fair amount of time before they hunt you down.**

 

**Keith (18:14)**

**not yet, no**

 

**Shiro (18:15)**

**Well, I’m sure he won’t be the only one. What did you think of his offer?**

 

**Keith (18:15)**

**i don’t know honestly**

 

Keith drops his phone to his lap with a heavy sigh. If Shiro had asked him that a year ago, or even six months ago, his answer would have been very different. He had been dead set on getting drafted for so long and an offer, from _any_ team, would have been a dream come true. Even when Shiro left the team entirely, Keith’s sight never wavered from this one steady, true constant. It was the only thing that stayed the same when everything else changed around him. So, he threw himself into it full force. He used to train on his own and imagine what it would be like to be a big league player. He used to pretend there were scouts in the crowd during every game. He used to think about what kind of team he’d have and how close he and his teammates would be. It was all he ever hoped for when it came to his future - but now that imaginary future seems so much duller than he remembers and he doesn’t know what happened. Where did this lackluster vision come from? Every single birthday wish he made over melting candle wax was for this _exact thing_ , but all he has left is apathy.

 

**Shiro (18:17)**

**You don’t know?**

 

His phone buzzes in his hand and he can only blink down at his brother’s message while his heart thuds in his chest.

Where does he go from here?

What even _is_ ‘here’?

 

With shaking fingers he taps in a hasty reply.

 

**Keith (18:18)**

**can we talk?**

 

“Then he said something about a salary -”

“Salary?” Shiro raises his brows in interest from across the couch. “Did he say how much?”

Keith digs out the business card from his back pocket, hands it to him, and returns back to his food to stab at a lone piece of broccoli buried amidst the noodles of his takeout. “He told me to email him for details.”

“Well, shit.” Shiro drops his dinner on a nearby table and reaches for his laptop. “Let’s get on that email, then.”

“Shiro -” Keith mumbles around a mouthful of food.

“I’m assuming you’re password is the same one you used from -” He taps the enter key and shakes his head with a  laugh. “You really should change that. It’s been the same thing for _years_.”

“Hold on - ”

“I don’t think you need to be _too_ eloquent in this… they already reached out to you, so a casual follow is probably fine.” Shiro reads out loud as he types. “Looking to follow up on our conversation from earlier…”

“Shiro, _stop_.”

Shiro’s fingers stall on the keyboard as he glances over to Keith in mild confusion. “Oh, do you want to word it? I can dictate - go ahead.”

“No, no. That’s not…” Keith sighs while his brother continues to stare on. “I don’t… I’m not sure if I even want to take it.”

“Well, there will definitely be more scouts so you’re smart to hold out for -”

“No, I don’t mean that I don’t want _this_ offer.” Keith pauses, hesitant, and drops his gaze to his lap. “I don’t know if I want _any_ offer.”

It takes a few beats of uncomfortable silence for Shiro to catch up to him, but Keith keeps his eyes down. There’s a heavy sigh, drawn out and knowing, followed by the sound of a laptop being shut and placed back onto the table. “Ah, I see.” Shiro pauses and doesn’t continue until Keith peeks up at him and his stupid sympathetic expression. He offers him one soft smile, tilting his head to the side. “Sorry I jumped the gun a bit there, but you can’t blame me for getting excited that my little brother was getting drafted.”

“It’s fine.” Keith doesn’t know what else to say or how to continue, so he only shrugs, shuts his mouth, and turns back to poke at his food.

But, of course, Shiro doesn’t just move on. “So -” He places a hand over the back of the couch and watches Keith with a frown. “What’s going on?”

Keith knows, without even looking at him, that Shiro won’t back down no matter how much Keith protests. There have been too many situations like this from their childhood there’s no hope in fighting him.

“I just - “ he heaves a sigh, mainly of frustration. “I honestly don’t even know. A year ago, I was _dying_ to be drafted - if anything, just to get off that damn team -  but now... “ He trails off, assuming that the end of his sentence doesn’t really need to be said. He doesn’t want to be drafted. He doesn’t want it. Not anymore.

“So…” Shiro leans forward to catch Keith’s eye. “You want to stay with the Red Lions?”

“I don’t _think_ so. I haven’t felt all that much for playing recently and I don’t know why. I just don’t care anymore.”

Shiro frowns. “Well, it didn’t look that way at Provincials, Keith.”

“That was different, though.” Keith rolls his eyes. “It wasn’t… the game I was excited for.”  
“I kind of figured as much.” Shiro adds with a slight smirk and nods for Keith to continue, he knows there’s more for him to get off his chest and he’s not backing off until he does.

Keith throws his hands up, suddenly very tired. “I don’t know! Hockey used to be everything to me - I used to choose it over everything and anything, but now I don’t feel that rush. I haven’t felt it in a long time.”

“Everyone gets into a funk once and awhile; it’s not fair to beat yourself up over it.”

“Point is, I don’t think I… care about hockey anymore.” Keith sighs. “No, that’s not -- I care about it, but I don’t _care_ care, you know?”

Shiro blinks dumbly at him twice before he frowns. “I think so?”

“ _Ugh_ ,” Keith groans and rubs at his face, falling against the back of the couch as he does. “This sucks.”

“You’re at a difficult period in life, Keith. It makes sense that you’d be struggling with these things.” Shiro reaches out to pat Keith sympathetically on the knee, meeting his eye with a simple shrug.

“Not hockey, though!” He leans his head back to stare at the ceiling, if only to avoid Shiro’s signature ‘Concerned Older Brother’ look. “Anything else, sure, but I’ve been dead set on this for so long! Why am I so unsure all of a sudden?”

There’s a long pause, then. The air between them is heavy, not with awkwardness or tension, but with a tenderness and sympathy so painfully strong that Keith can feel it coming off of Shiro in waves. His brother has always been the supportive kind, but heart to hearts like this pull the worst out of him. Their mother used to joke that he was the family’s personal counsellor and their dad called him a father without any kids. Something about him just leads him to be endlessly comforting - when he’s not being a normal, teasing, embarrassing older brother, that is.

Shiro sighs, slow and soft. “Listen… I don’t have all the answers, no matter how much I wish I did, but that’s life. It’s just a big mess of uncertainty that we all have to wade through blindly. You’ll figure this out, Keith. You will.”  
“ _How_?”

“Maybe…” Shiro shrugs and reaches for his dinner on the coffee table, scooping up a mouthful of noodles with ease. “Maybe you need to take a break?”

“A break? From Hockey?”

He tilts his head thoughtfully to the side and mumbles around his food. “Some time away from it might be good for you. It’ll give you time to sort through all of this.”

“I don’t know…” Keith frowns down at his hands in his lap. “I can’t just do nothing… I’d get bored of my mind if I stayed here all day.”

“Well, the arena is always open if you want to swing by to keep yourself busy.” Shiro offers him a brief smile. “Things are calmer there now that Nationals are over so you might be able to join us on the ice if you wanted to.”

Even though Keith’s mind is _very much_ in agreement that this is a bad idea, there’s another part of him (that’s far less logically driven) that is seriously considering it. It’s been… many years since he’s had a break from hockey. The last time he can remember is one summer break when his family went on vacation to see his mom’s family in Morocco. And even then, he made sure to bring his stick and a puck with him - lack of ice be damned. Sure, back then he was obsessed with hockey to the point of it being a little terrifying, but he isn’t the same person anymore and things have obviously changed. Maybe Shiro is right; maybe he needs to take a break. It’s like a relationship that’s hit a plateau, you need time apart to see the whole picture once more.

Keith reaches a hand up to swipe through his hair, breath whooshing out through his nose in a heavy sigh. “God, what am I gonna tell Coach?”

“It’s not forever.” Shiro spears another piece of broccoli and pops it into his mouth. “She’ll survive.”

“Yeah, not so worried about _her_ surviving so much as I am about _me_ surviving.”

“You’ve got a point there. Still: this is your life, not yours, so it’s your decision to make.” And with that, the conversation falls to an end. Ducking his head, Shiro inspects his food for a brief second before rising to his feet and heading off towards the kitchen, now out of Keith’s sight. He hears the clanking of dishes in the sink and the tap being turned on while Keith gathers his own discarded meal to follow towards the sound. Shiro’s back is to him now, hunched over the sink while he works at a particularly stubborn pan with his washcloth, and Keith ducks behind him to drop his leftovers in the fridge just past the sink. He quickly fills himself a glass of water and begins to make his way back to the living room, already drafting out the email he’ll send to his coach in his head, but pauses at the room’s threshold.

“Hey, Shiro?”

“Hm?” Shiro’s questioning hum is barely audible as he shuts off the water and places the now clean pan aside, turning his attention over his shoulder Keith.

Keith leans against the doorway and offers his brother the tiniest of shrugs. “Thanks… for, you know, listening and stuff. I needed it.”

There’s that painful tenderness again, practically oozing out of him as Shiro smiles warmly. “Of course.”

He turns his back again, saving Keith from any more of this fraternal bonding, and starts placing clean dishes back into the cupboards. “Oh and, break or no break, I think you should still email that scout about his offer.”

Keith groans, laying his head against the doorframe. “I probably should, shouldn’t I? Fuck I don’t know what to say. Can you help me write it? I have no clue how to navigate this professional shit.”

Shiro snorts, tucking away a few more mugs and turning on his heels with a roll of his eyes. “Clearly.”

“Hey!”

“Alright, alright.” Shiro holds up his hands with a laugh, but slowly wades over to him. “So - how do we start this?’

* * *

 

“How long did you say you’re off for?” Matt falls in beside Keith as he speaks, locking his car with a quick click over his shoulder.

Keith shrugs and keeps his eyes on the storefront ahead of them. “Just a few weeks.”

“I’m surprised you don’t have an assistant coach or someone else who can take over while your usual coach recovers.” Matt frowns while he pushes his glasses higher onto his nose. “Seems like lack of prep work on her part, honestly.”

Keith shrugs again, but doesn’t respond. He wasn’t as honest with the rest of them as he was with Shiro. They didn’t need to know his melodramatic sports struggles, so he blamed his break from practices on a fake surgery his Coach is having. It means he can work through his thoughts in peace without dragging anyone else into it with him.

“Who cares!” Pidge jumps in between them with a bubbly grin. “Either way, we get Keith with _us_ for a few weeks instead!”

Matt laughs at his sibling’s enthusiasm briefly before reaching to pat a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “There is that. It will be nice to have you around here more, Keith.”

“Th-thanks,” Keith ducks his head, taken aback that someone he barely knows would want him there. “It’ll be nice _being_ around.”

A few steps ahead of them, Lance reaches the cafe’s door first and steps back to hold it open for them. “Does this mean I’m coaching you again?” He offers Keith a look as he passes, which Keith dismisses with a roll of his eyes.

“Oh, don’t worry there.” Keith hears him fall in step behind them as the smell of fresh coffee greets them inside. “I think I’ve had enough of your coaching for one lifetime.”

‘Hey! I’m a great coach!”

“Hmmm…” Keith raises a brow at him teasingly, tapping at his chin. “I had a taste of your coaching skills and I don’t know if I agree.”

Lance leans down slightly to meet Keith’s eyes more fully, the corner of his mouth quirk into a smirk. “Sure you don’t need a second taste?”

Keith nearly faceplants then, his feet tripping over nothing and even Lance seems shocked by his own words, eyes wide in surprise. Something tells Keith that he didn’t mean for them to come out the way they sounded, but how the hell else was that _supposed to sound??_

“I - uh -” Lance fumbles and straightens up, turning deliberately away from Keith who is still trying to force the blush from his cheeks. “You know, I just - I meant -”

Thankfully for both of them, Kale spots them from behind the counter and waves, keeping them from further humiliating themselves. “Well geez, there’s a whole flock you guys this time!”

“Flock?” Pidge repeats with a snicker.

“What else would I call you?” Kale drapes a towel over his shoulder and strolls over to the cash. “You fly across the ice like you were born to, so it made sense to me.”

Matt holds up a finger. “Mmmm, not me. If we’re using the bird analogy, I’m the ugly duckling of the group.

Kale’s expression very abruptly shifts then and he leans forward against the counter. “I wouldn’t say _that_.”

“You haven’t seen me skate.” Matt rolls his eyes.

“Don’t have to,” Kale lets his gaze sit on him for a few seconds longer (during which the rest of the group exchange some pretty knowing looks) before he straightens up with a smile. “So, then - orders?”

“I’ll have my usual, thanks.” Lance is the first to reply, loosening the scarf around his neck slightly, revealing a tiny flush of pink which Keith promptly tries to ignore.

Kale nods as he reaches for a cup and Lance pulls his wallet from his back pocket. “Oh no,” Kale holds up a hand, leaving the cup under the espresso machine to wave off Lance’s money. “Today’s drinks are on me.”

“All of them?”

“All of them.” He confirms with a smile. “Think of it as a congratulatory present for your big Nationals win.”

“Kale,” Pidge interjects from around Lance’s arm. “You really don’t have to do that.”

He offers them an even warmer smile and reaches for another cup. “Ah, but I _want_ to so that’s that.” He holds a sharpie above the cup, poised and at the ready. “Who’s next? Keith?”

Eventually, they all spit out their orders, closing off with a nonchalant ‘surprise me’ from Pidge. Keith appraises them with a smirk as they all step down to the order end of the counter. “Really?”

Pidge shrugs. “I’m not picky with coffee, honestly. I don’t really care what’s in it.”

“ _Clearly_.” Lance scoffs and meets Keith’s eye to explain. “They drink instant coffee at home - it’s revolting.”

“Hey, at least I’m not blowing fifty bucks a week on coffee.”

“Yes, but at what cost, Pidge?” Lance grabs them by the shoulders and stares down in horror. “It is nothing but dirty sock water. How could you put that in your _body_?!’

Pidge rolls their eyes at Lance’s drama. “It tastes fine to me.”

“It’s the _devil’s drink_ , Pidge!” Lance exclaims loudly and this time they all roll their eyes, Kale quickly placing Lance’s drink on the counter for him to grab and hold close to his chest. “That filth is an insult to Kale’s craft and you should be ashamed of yourself.”

“I don’t mind, actually.” Kale adds as he heads back down the counter with a shrug, already reaching for another cup. “Coffee can get pretty expensive so I get it.”

Lance looks absolutely disgusted at that, betrayal clear on his face. “Traitor.”

Keith rolls his eyes while Pidge and Lance continue their heated debate over the validity of instant coffee. He’s been gearing himself to deal with the guilt associated with this break he’s taking, but he’s surprisingly guilt-free. He thought so many missed practices would put him on edge, that he’d cave and give up after a few days, but so far - he’s perfectly content to hang his gear up for a few weeks. Shiro might actually be right that he just needs a brief break to screw his head on straight. At least, he’s hoping he is.

“One medium roast.” A cup slides in beside Keith and he glances over to see Kale smiling across at him. He places another to its right, nodding to Matt. “Peppermint tea, two bags. Annnnd -” He steps back to reach for a third and final cup. “A matcha tea latte for the adventurous one.”

Pidge pretty much dives on it, not even pausing to let it cool off before they’re taking a sip. They hum contently and bob their head in approval. “Perfect.”

“Great.” Kale reaches for a towel to wipe his hands dutifully. “I wasn’t sure if you’f like this one, but you tend to be the most open of the group.”

Lance leans over them again and inspects their drink with a frown. “There is no way you can convince me that that work of art is as good as the hot water and powdered crap concoction you make at home.”

“They’re both fine, Lance.” Pidge sighs, taking another sip more carefully this time.

“I cannot _believe_ you.”

Pidge rolls their eyes. “Why don’t you take your elitist, snooty coffee and shove it straight up your -”

A hand clamps down over their mouth as Matt forcibly turns them away from a scowling Lance. The older man laughs and offers Kale a friendly smile. “Thanks again for the drinks. We owe you one.”

Kale shrugs casually, although Keith senses lots of effort behind the movement, like he’s trying just a little too hard to make it seem like he’s not trying. “No worries. You can just buy _me_ a coffee next time.”

It clicks in Keith’s mind then and he nearly chokes on a mouthful of his drink. Lance reaches over to thwak him between the shoulder blades as he gives him a knowing look. “Oh I know. Just wait.” He says in a whisper.

“I bet you get pretty sick of coffee when you’re a barista.” Matt only laughs, not picking up the same thing Keith is. “You probably get as many free drinks as you want, too.”

Kale’s spirits drop slightly despite the ever-present smile on his lips. “I mean, sure but a gifted drink is nice… every now and again.”

“Well, alright.” Matt lets go off Pidge’s face as they squirming grows and he smiles once more. “Next coffee is on me. Just put it on our tab and I’ll pay it off next chance I get.”

Kale’s sunshine attitude dims ever so slightly. “That’s not -” But Matt only presses his cup to his lips, attention turned away for the moment so Kale sighs, acceptance falling over him. Like a light bulb, though, he returns to his usual chirpiness and offers them all a short wave. “I’ll let you all get going! Congrats again, by the way. Let Hunk know I said so, too.  Everyone in town has been talking about it, so you guys are practically superstars to us simple peasants.”

Pidge ducks their head, bashful, but nods. “Thanks. I’ll let him know.”

They all spout off goodbyes as they make their way towards the front entrance and into the cold winter air. The second they’re out of view from the cafe windows, Lance hops in beside Matt and bats his eyes at him, practically singing his name. “Hey, Maaaatt.”

“Yes?” Matt pulls another swig of his tea and raises a brow at him.

“Let me ask you something,” Lance starts. “Are you completely dense or are you just a moron?”

“ _Excuse me_?”

Lance holds up his hands in defense. “Hey, it’s a valid question.”  
“What are you even talking about?”

“He was _flirting with you_ , you absolute potato.” Lance whacks him on the back of the head, bonking his nose into his cup and splashing teas over his face.

“What? No, he wasn’t!” Matt shoots him a dirty look as he rubs the tea from his brow, all them finally nearing the car.

Pidge groans pulling the passenger door open. “Yes he was, Matt.”

“He was being _friendly_ . He’s always like that! With _everyone_!” Neither Lance nor Pidge offer any response beyond a series of unimpressed looks and his gaze finally settles on Keith.

He shrugs uselessly. “Sorry?”

Matt slowly disappears from their line of sight as he lowers himself into the driver’s seat with a dull thump. Keith exchanges a quick glance with the others before lowering himself into his own seat. Matt doesn’t even meet anyone’s eyes when he puts his drink in the cup holder, starts the car, and backs out of their parking spot.

Pidge rolls their eyes so hard, Keith can practically feel it. “ _Matt_.”

“This _whole time_ -” Matt starts with a dramatic wave of his hand. “You’re telling me he’s been hitting on me this whole time and I’ve been oblivious to _all of it_??”

Pidge shrugs. “I mean… It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened.”

Matt groans loudly while Lance snickers quietly at Keith’s side. “Great. Now I can never go back there.”

 _That_ pulls a full on snort from Lance and Keith shoves him roughly, a silent ‘cut it out’, which only makes him cover his mouth with a hand while his shoulders still shake with laughter.

“What?” Pidge gawks at the side of their brother’s face. “What do you mean you can’t go back there? Are you kidding me? Of _course_ , you’re going back!”

“Pidge -”

“Oh no.” They wave a hand at him dismissively. “You are not going to chicken out again; you’re going back there _tomorrow_.”

“And say what?” Matt leads them around a particularly sharp turns as he rambles. “‘Oh hey, it just dawned on me that you’ve been flirting with me for months and I only noticed when my sibling’s friend mentioned it. Sorry for blowing you off so many times. Coffee?’”

“Works for me!”

Matt’s scoff is almost aggressive and Keith chooses then to jump in. “Kale’s a nice guy, Matt. He’d probably laugh it off. Right, Lance?”

Lance, voice breathy from laughing so hard, wipes a tear from his eye. “Totally.”

“And what are _you_ laughing at?” Matt glares at him through the rear view mirror, suddenly defensive.

“No, no, no - listen.” Lance leans against the back of Matt’s seat and grins. “This just reminded me that Keith once thought Kale was flirting with _me_. Oh, how wrong he was.”

Pidge turns around and narrows their eyes at Keith. “You thought Kale was into Lance?”

“Well - I didn’t - !” Keith sputters and turns away. “I didn’t _know_ Kale well enough, then! I didn’t know if he was overly friendly or if - if he was -”

“But why did you even care?” Pidge’s eyes are but a sliver now as they inspect him. Lance looks on, amused.

“I - He was just -!” Keith grasps at any and all words he can think of but his excuses fail before they even leave his lips with a huff, he folds his arms over his chest and leans back into his seat. “You know what, let’s just change the topic.”

“ _I agree_.” Matt jabs a finger in the air as they slowly approach the arena parking lot.

Pidge doesn’t seem to want to move even an inch away from the conversation, eyes fixed on Keith, but they cave eventually. They turn back around and reach for their drink again. “Fine. But me and you are _so_ talking about this more later.” They try to burn holes in their brother’s face, but Matt pointedly ignores them.

“Fine by me.” Matt pulls the keys from the ignition and unbuckles. “So - has anyone asked Keith about the party?”

At the sound of his name, Keith looks up, halfway out the door already. “A party? Party for what?”

Pidge, who is already out of their seat, slams a hand against the roof of the car. “That’s right! I completely forgot!”

“Weren’t you the one so gung-ho about it?” Lance asks as he too lifts himself from his seat and bumps the door shut with his hip.

Pidge squints over at him. “Funny… ‘Cause I seem to remember a certain someone fighting to have it held at his apartment.”

“It’s not my fault your place is full of tech stuff.” Lance retorts. “You can’t even see the floor!”

Keith, now taking up the rear of the group, jogs in between them as Matt leads them up the sidewalk to the arena. “Guys - _What. Party?_ ”

Lance peers over at him, briefly giving up his bickering to explain. “Usually, we all just go to a fancy restaurant to celebrate finishing Nationals, but this year Pidge is insisting we have a party.”

“It’s not _only_ for Nationals!” They cut in. “It’s for Keith’s Provincials win, too! We both placed at our respective competitions and if that’s not a reason to throw a party, I don’t know what is!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Lance rolls his eyes pointedly for Keith to see, a smirk on his lips.

Matt, just ducking through the main door, looks back his sibling. “Pidge: Keith. Party. Invitation.”

“Right. I was getting there.” They look over at Keith, eyes sparkling. “Obviously you’re invited - it’s being held partly for you after all. We’re all heading to Lance and Hunk’s place from here on Saturday so you can join us if you want.”

Lance holds up a hand and starts ticking things off on his fingers. “Free booze, empty rink, an opportunity to witness the miracle that is an intoxicated Hunk. What reason do you have to say no?”

“And!” Pidge jumps back in, excitement growing. “Since you don’t have any practices right now, you don’t need to worry about missing them.”

Keith frowns and breathes out a sigh. “I mean, you’re not wrong.”

“So you’re coming?” Pidge’s eyes sparkle as they watch him attentively.

“Sure?” He shrugs. “Why not?”

Pidge lets out a celebratory whoop and pumps a fist into the air before snagging his sleeve in their fist to jump excitedly beside him. “ _Awesome_. We usually end up staying over at the party house so bring your overnight stuff.”

“Is your apartment really that big?” Keith wonders out loud, glancing over to Lance briefly. “How many people are even coming?”

Lance sucks back a mouthful of his sugary disaster of a drink before he answers. “You, me, Hunk, and Pidge will be there the longest. Matt, Shiro, and Allura usually leave parties early because they’re boring.”

Matt cuts in, shooting him a look from over his shoulder. “Or: we have important jobs that prevent us from partying all night.”

Lance very pointedly ignores him and continues on as if no one even spoke; Matt rolls his eyes for Keith to see as he turns forward again. “Also Hunk will probably invite Shay over, too.”

“Oh, that’s right - Hunk’s girlfriend or something. Does she live near you guys?”

“Same building.” Lance says matter of factly. “She’s a few floors up from us.”

Pidge peers up at Keith looking surprised. “Wait? Have you not met Shay yet?” Keith shakes his head, no, and Pidge’s eyes go wide. “Oh my god, you’re gonna love her. She’s a sweet angel in an amazonian lady’s body.”

“And yet, despite her angelic personality, she has a devil cat.” Lance adds dryly.

Pidge gasps then, slowly as if something just dawned on them. “I bet Sugar will like him.”

“No way.”

Keith looks between the two of them. “Her cat’s name is Sugar?”

“Sugar Cookie, actually.” Lance sighs heavily and fixes Keith with a warning glare. “But don’t let her name fool you; she’s evil.”

“You only say that because she doesn’t like you.” Pidge snarks.

“She doesn’t like _anyone_!” Lance explains with a wide gesture of annoyance. “Except Shay and Hunk, but I haven’t met anyone who doesn’t like those two, so --”

“She’ll like Keith.” Pidge interrupts, pausing to smile up at Keith. “You guys are kind of similar.”

Keith laughs, amused albeit a little concerned, and follows Pidge’s lead as they pull open and pass through the rink doors. “I don’t think I want to know how.”

Matt, who had broken away from the group and already made his way into the rink, waits by the seats where Hunk sits in the front row, bent over untying his skates. He hears only the end of their conversation and looks over with a smile. “Know what?”

“Apparently I’m a lot like one of Shay’s cats, according to Pidge.” Keith explains, shrugging.

“Sugar?”

Keith nods in confirmation. “That’s the one.”

There’s silence as Hunk seems to mull this over, eyes narrowing as he stares calculatingly at Keith. Finally he huffs out a surprised puff of air and laughs. “Shit - you two _are_ pretty alike…”

“Oh my god.” Lance rolls his eyes and Keith can’t help but laugh at his exasperation, despite missing pieces of the joke.

Pidge leans in close to Lance with a smug grin. “See?”

“Oh, whatever.” He pushes them away, hand smushing against their cheek, and nods off toward the rink entrance. “Come on, we’ve got stuff to do.”

“Yes you do.” Matt, who had stepped over to the rink’s edge to wave Allura over from her business on the ice, jumps back into the conversation. “You two -” he points to Hunk and Pidge. “- are expected in the lift room in fifteen and Lance, we have some audio to go over.”

They all seem to click into work mode then, collecting their things and preparing to leave. Before they disappear, though, Lance looks to Keith briefly. “I don’t know what your plans are for the day, but you can pretty much do whatever now that Nationals rehearsals are over. The ice is relatively free.”

Keith shrugs. “I was just going to hand out and watch lessons, to be honest.”

“Well that seems like a waste,” Allura pipes in. She waits on the rink where she and Matt were, wrapped in a pink and white sports jacket and a teasing smile. “I have a beginner’s class next so you might as well join us to kill the time.”

“Oh - I, umm…” Keith looks across the rink at the preteens and kids roaming across one end of it. “That’s - that’s okay. I don’t even have skates on me anyways.”

There’s a thud beside him and Keith watches Lance fold his arms over his chest, nodding to his bag now lying at Keith’s feet. “They may be a little big on you but they’re better than nothing.”  Keith must look completely confused and caught off guard because Lance quietly laughs, waving a hand in the air between them. “I’m buying new ones this weekend so these are just going to be given away anyways.”

Keith stares at the bag for a few seconds before he picks it up and thumbs the nylon strap thoughtfully. “Oh… uh, thanks, Lance.”

“Don’t mention it.”

That he can do. He can also not mention how much he adores the warm, genuine smile Lance flashes him before Allura jumps in.

“So - I guess that settles it.”

“I don’t really have a choice do I?”

“Nope.”

Keith laughs and moves to take off his jacket, carefully placing Lance’s bag on the seats beside him. “Alright, then.”

“We’ll come find you for lunch later, okay?” Pidge leans into his line of sight as they disappear up the aisle with the rest of the group.

Keith nods as they wander further away, sending them off with a wave, and leave him with a grinning Allura. He’s only had a brief taste of Allura’s teaching style through her rehearsals with Pidge, Hunk, and Lance so he’s a little apprehensive about this lesson. She wasn’t there too often during previous lessons, so he isn’t entirely sure what to expect from her as a teacher. Although, she _did_ help him during their first meeting…

Allura claps a hand against the top of the boards and leans back from them. “I’m going to get the others started, so take your time getting ready and make to warm up thoroughly.”

“Alright,” Keith reaches for the skates as she steps away, gliding off towards the other side of the rink in one smooth movement.

Lance’s skates fit pretty decently he’ll admit, which is a relief. He’s not worried about the actual lesson he’s being flung into - s stark contrast to how he felt prior to his last first lesson. He’s not sure if he should be concerned about the radical change or not, but he feels a small hiccup of excitement as he steps onto the ice which should be answer enough.

He’s only just getting used to the skates, working his way across the ice with slow, even strides, when the sound of fervent skating approaches him from behind. He’s nearly knocked off his feet by a short figure flying into his chest as he turns, tiny arms already wrapped tightly around his waist.

“What -?” He looks down at the wild collection of curls and frowns, recognition slowly coming over him. “Tia?”

She tils her head back, wide smile lighting up her face as she stares up at him. “You’re back!”

“Back?”

“Coach Shiro said you had quit taking lessons but you’re _here_ !” She lets go of him and clasps her hands under her chin, eyes practically glowing. “Oh my _gosh_ \- are we in the same class?!”

Keith is somewhat worried that she might actually hurt herself by how much she’s shacing in excitement, so he answers slowly and carefully. “Well, I’m just visiting… really…”

Tia’s face immediately scrunches into a look of disapproval. “That’s dumb.”

Keith can’t help a quiet snort at her pinched expression, but quickly covers it up with an inconspicuous clearing of his throat and places a hand on her head consolingly. “I can’t take these lessons _and_ have hockey practice - I’d be too busy. Tia, I’m not a figure skater, I’m a hockey player. ”

“Ew.” Her grimace only grows at that and she sticks out her tongue in disgust. “Hockey is gross and sweaty and _so_ not pretty. I tried it when i was little and hated it.”

At first, Keith can’t imagine cute, little Tia like that: slamming players against the boards as she steals the puck from her unsuspecting victims, covered in several inches of gear to make her tiny frame seem intimidating. But then he remembers her pointed glare and the animosity she radiated towards Lance…

She’s be totally fine.

“You should just quit hockey to come here,” Tia says like it’s the most obvious solution.

Keith sighs and sinks down to one knee to match her height. “But I like hockey.”

“ _Why_?”

He knows it’s a rhetorical question. He knows she doesn’t actually mean it or expects any sort of answer from him other than a laugh. And yet -- he finds himself reaching and scrambling for one. Why does he like it?

Thankfully, he isn’t given much time to contemplate this sudden riddle, as Allura chooses now to slide into view with a grin on her face. “Ah,” she appraises Tia with an amused look of pride. “I se eyou wasted no time in spotting our newcomer, Tia.”

Tia, almost by reflex, reaches up to snatch Keith’s sleeve between her fingers. “So he _is_ in the class!”

“Only for today, I’m afraid.” Allura can’t seem to help the soft chuckle of laughter that escapes her lips, but she still manages to look over to Keith for confirmation.

“Uh, yeah. Just today.” Keith briefly wonders how her mother ever says no to her because the pout she is sporting holds some pretty fierce power. He reaches to pat her hand reassuringly. “But I will come watch when I can. I have a few weeks off so I’ll be here visiting a lot, okay?”

Tia barely accepts his response, but Allura doesn’t follow her lead - obviously that’s not a good enough answer in her books. She props her hands onto her waist and tilts her head to the side. “Well then, if you’re going to be here anyways, you might as well join us.” KEith opens his mouth to cut her off but she beats him to it. “Free of charge. Take it as a thank you for all you’ve done for our skaters.”

Well, that definitely has him taken aback. “I haven’t… really done anything, though?”

“I disagree.” She says it so easily, like it’s so obvious. “Besides, I want to take this chance to whip you into shape after Shiro’s soft coaching skills.”

“Allura, really. I appreciate the off-”

“ _Keith_ .” Tia all but whines his name and shakes his arm in desperation. “Please please please please! It’ll be so much fun! You _have_ to!” She’s practically swinging off his sleeve at this point, big brown eyes staring up at him in a nearly irrefutable plea.

He looks to Allura for help but she only shrugs, offering nothing more than a simple: “What else would you be doing anyways? It only makes sense.”

He looks between the two of them for several seconds, his mind searching for a way to back out of their well laid trap, but he comes up empty. So, reluctantly, heavily, he sighs and nods his head. “Fine.”

Tia’s gleeful squeal could have shattered Matt’s glasses were he still nearby. She seems to barely notice how easily she broke the sound barrier, only stepping back from Keith to spin excitedly with her arms extended above her head. “We’re going to be skate partners!”

“Mmmm, not quite yet, missy.” Allura stop sher mid-twirl and smiles, shooting a look across the rink to the other children. “You go work on your smael spins with the rest of the class. I’ll be over to check on you in a few minutes.”

“But - !”

“Ah, ah! No ‘buts’!” Allura holds up a hand before shushing Tia down the ice. “You will see Keith later so get going.”

Tia, with an angry pout, sighs dramatically through her nose just so everyone knows how incredibly unhappy she is. She looks to Keith for support of some kind but he is in no way going to oppose Allura’s direct orders. In the end, Tia doesn’t try to push her luck, showing a tremendous amount of self-control as she unenthusiastically heads across the rink.

Allura wastes no time apparently. Tia is barely a few feet away when she turns on Keith with the eyes of a hungry vulture and props her hands up on her hips. “Alright then, Red Lion. Let’s see how much you remember.”

 

Allura isn’t a… _mean_ coach (at least, not like Keith’s hockey coach), but she doesn’t go easy on him either. Any move Keith is struggling with gets broken down into smaller steps that she relentlessly beats into his muscle memory. She then leaves him to piece them all back together while she checks on the others, who seem to receive just as hardcore coaching as he does despite how much younger they are than him. Every time she comes back to him though, she always returns with critiques to bring him further down the never ending path towards perfection.

He _will_ say, however, that this is the fastest he’s ever pick up something in his entire life.

Sure, hockey came naturally to him, but there was a learning process when it came to the more difficult skills. This lesson, though… everything just seems to click into place to easily. Something about Allura’s coaching works with him. He has his most difficult footwork cleaned up in under an hour and is catching up to the newer material at a surprisingly fast pace.

It’s over before he realizes and Allura takes some time to individually give them focus points to work on in between lessons. Tia, who had been off on her own this whole time, is beaming with a mixture of pride, excitement, and joy as Allura works her through her notes from the lesson. Keith had briefly watched her attempt a camel spin off on her own (something Allura assured Keith was not in his near future) and almost nail it. There must be something in her genes that makes all of this seem so easy to her because Keith has no explanation for her blatant prodigiosity. Allura gives her a few points about footwork and balance to which Tia nods along seriously, soaking up every ounce of information like a sponge, then races off when Allura gives her the go ahead. She seems briefly reluctant to leave the ice, hesitating before stepping past the boards and reaching for a vibrant purple duffel bag on a nearby seat.

Keith, who had already received his plentiful notes from Allura before the rest of them, swings his own bag over his shoulder and crosses over to her. She notices him almost immediately, her excited babbling starting before he’s even at her side.

“Keith, Keith! Did you see me today?” She’s already pried one of her skates from her foot by the time Keith sits down next to her, so she reaches for a green glittery blade guard from her bag then drops the skate dramatically back into the bag.

Keith can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. It’s almost contagious, if he’s honest. “I did - you’re pretty good, you know.” She beams even brighter, if that was even possible, and ducks her head, as if bashful. Keith persists. “No, really, you’re a natural, Tia.”

She shrugs, still keeping her eyes turned down as she discards her second second into the bag, already sporting its flashy blade guard. “I’m only doing what Allura tells me to do.”

“Well,” Keith leans back in the seat and he sees Tia’s gaze follow him slightly. “Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it. ‘Cause pretty soon you’ll be a figure skating star.”

“You…” She twiddles her fingers uncertainly in her lap. “You think so?’

Keith nods with a smile. “Totally.”

She hums quietly to herself, turning to zip up her bag and pull it into her lap. She flips the strap over and over again in her hands while she talks. “I took ballet classes last year.”

It’s an abrupt change of conversation, but Keith plays along. “Oh really?”

“Yeah.” She pauses for a few seconds then shrugs. “I wasn’t very good.”

“I don’t think I believe that.” Keith shoots her a look but she shakes her head, continuing on.

“No, really. I wasn’t.” She turns her face to him, her expression a little sad. “Mom always told me that I was doing great, even when I’d fall down or forget the steps, but I know she’s just saying that because she’s my mom. The other kids in the class didn’t like me much either… Or the teacher.”

“Tia -” Keith goes to interrupt but she barely seems to notice him.

“They thought I was loud. That I talked too much or got too excited… They said I was annoying, actually. ” She starts picking at a stray thread in her bag, slightly too obsessively. “Anyways, I tried really hard in class but it didn’t matter because I failed my first big test.”

Keith doesn’t quite know where to start, or if he should even touch on some of what she’s said, so he gently urges her on. As best he can, at least. “I doubt you _failed_ it.”

“I fell on one of the other girls and hurt her.” She says, pretty matter of factly.

“Okay, but that was an accident.”

“Then I puked on my teacher when she came to see if we were alright.”

“Still an accident.”

“Then I threw my shoe at the first girl when she called me a loser.”

Keith raises his brows and nods slowly, scratching at his nose as he talks. “Okay so that wasn’t an accident, but I’m sure you didn’t mean it.”

“... I did.”

“Tia.”

She leans her head back, dropping her hands in her lap and sighs heavily. “She made fun of my hair. And my hand-me-down shoes. She said I had two left feet and called my mom a loser, too.”

“Your mom? Why?” Keith frowns.

“For having me.”

Keith shakes his head and resists the urge to roll his eyes. _Kids._ They’re logic is messed up and they’re ruthless sometimes, he remembers their torment more than he’d like to.

“I left ballet after that.” Tia continues. “Mom told me that I shouldn’t stop lessons because other people thought I should, but I did anyways. I wasn’t good at it so it didn’t matter.”

“Did you want to keep going?” Keith leans forward to try and catch her eye, she quickly looks in his direction but looks away shortly after.

“A little. I just wanted to look pretty like the other girls and I thought I could do that if i was a dancer.” She sighs and returns to fiddling with her bag, this time her attention is focused on the zipper. “Mom told me I shouldn’t give up so she started looking for a new ballet class, with different people. One day, when we were getting ready for Disney Night -”

“Disney Night?” Keith smirks, tilting his head in question.

Tia looks up at him like the answer should be obvious (which I guess it is). “We watch Disney movies on Disney Night.”

“Oh, of course.”

“Anyways,” Tia turns back to look ahead of her, where Allura still stands on the ice talking to a few stragglers. “We were getting ready and Mom saw something in the newspaper about figure skating. We actually skipped Disney Night to visit the rink, talk to Coach Shiro, look at skates at the sports store, and watch figure skating videos on the laptop before bed. I think Mom was more excited than I was.”

Keith squints at her. “I don’t believe that for one second. You love figure skating more than the rest of your class, Tia.”

“... Okay so I was a _little_ excited.” She admits with a tiny smile.

“There we go.” Keith nudges her with his shoulder and nods for her to continue. “So, what? It was love at first sight, then?”

She shrugs. “I… don’t know. All of the skaters in the videos were so pretty and did everything so easily. Nothing I ever did was easy so I didn’t think I’d be good at it.”

“But you are.” Keith interjects.

“... But I am.” She is a little taken aback by Keith’s open praise but she doesn’t deny it. “I’ve never been good at something… It feels nice.”

“Listen, I’m not like my brother and I’m not very good at pep talks, but… ” Keith starts, pausing for her too look up at him when she keeps her eyes glued to her hands. “You really are a great skater. Better than I am and I’ve been skating for most of my life -”

“Yeah, as a gross hockey player.” Tia scrunches up her nose but Keith ignores her.

“Whatever those girls said before doesn’t matter. Sometimes people are mean because they aren’t happy and don’t know how else to deal with it. I’ve… I’ve been that person many times in my life, so I know that they don’t mean a single word they say. The only thing you should care about is what _you_ think and how _you_ feel. Okay?”

She stares up at him, eyes wide and fingers stilled, as she slowly nods. “Okay.”

“Good.” Keith thinks of all of the things he should say or could say, but they all feel too heavy for a little kid to hear, so he settles on one last sentiment. “Oh, and by the way: you do look pretty when you skate.”

 _That_ ignites a sparkle in Tia’s eyes that is almost blinding to look at. She leans closer to Keith, hands finding the armrest between them and gripping it with ferocious strength. “Really?”

“Really.” Keith smiles and tries for an affectionate ruffle of her hair, like Shiro has done to him so many times. “You’re definitely better dressed than the rest of us, that’s for sure.”

She rolls her eyes, her usual sass coming back to her. “Well, duh. Your nice sweater is an ugly sweater.”

“Hey,” Keith warns teasingly. “I like that sweater.”

“Okay, but it’s still ugly.”

Keith rolls his eyes at her amused giggle, glad at least that she’s come back up from her momentary bout of seriousness. She briefly seemed a lot older and more mature than she usually does, and Keith really hopes that her ‘normal self’ isn’t just a facade she puts on. He knows what a childhood life of isolation and exclusion feels like and Tia doesn’t deserve it. But he trust the bright, beaming smile she wears as openly as her sparkly wardrobe more than he trusts her moments of uncertainty and timidity. Despite what he may have thought or said several weeks ago, Keith has really warmed up to Tia - intense enthusiasm, dramatic dresses, snark, and all. He was never one for kids, but she’s won him over, he’ll admit it.

She’s begun digging out a neon orange jacket (dear God, are any of her belongings _not_ outrageously flashy?) when someone calls out her name from down the aisle. Both Keith and her turn towards it, spotting Tia’s mother smiling over at them, giant Mom Purse hauled up onto her shoulder. Tia practically bounds to her feet with her bag held up in her arms against her chest and waves wildly towards her mom.

“I’m coming!” Keith stands to ease into the aisle and out of her way. She looks up to him then, her back turned to her mom briefly. “You’re coming back for the next lesson, right?”

Keith shrugs with a small laugh. “Do I have a choice?” She shakes her head and her fluffy curls bounce with the movement so Keith sighs. “Guess you’ll be seeing more of me, then.”

She nods, a little smug, and turns on her heels to head off towards her mother. Her footsteps falter slightly before she gets even a quarter of the way there and she stops. Abruptly (and a little aggressively) Tia spins around to launch herself at Keith, her tiny arms wrapping around his waist with a surprisingly intense grip. Keith is slow to react, but eventually lowers his hands to rest somewhat awkwardly on her back, not quite sure how to respond.

She looks up at him, chin pressed to his sternum, and grins brightly. “Thanks, Keith.”

“Oh,” Keith stumbles over his thoughts and clears his throat as he reaches up to pat her on the head twice. “You’re, um - You’re welcome.”

And with that, she’s off, tearing away from Keith to chase after her mother near the arena doors. She greets her with a hug of her own and immediately starts babbling at an alarming speed. She’s speaking so quickly that Keith can’t even make out the words, but her mom nods along the whole time, pressing a hand on her shoulder and directing her through the doors with expertise. She doesn’t forget to shoot Keith a warm smile as they leave (which Keith returns as best he can alongside a small wave) then ducks to the side as a few more people pass past her. Keith quickly makes out Pidge’s wild tuft of hair sandwiched between Hunk’s broad silhouette and Lance’s tall and slender frame. He meets them halfway, scooping his bag up and over shoulder as he does.

Lance catches his eye as he approaches. “Well if isn’t Altea Arena’s new star pupil! How was class?”

“Exhausting.” Keith sighs, puffing a piece of hair from his vision as he does, and Lance laughs. The group of them turn right back around and step into the main lobby where parents and children slowly exit towards the parking lot, done up in heavy winter clothing. Keith looks to Lance once more, watching him tug a bright yellow scarf higher up over his chin. “Thanks again for the skates, by the way. They were definitely a step up from Allura’s rentals.”

Lance snorts. “If you think that, you should try out some brand new custom fit skates. They make you feel like you’re skating on clouds.”

“I’ll keep that in mind the next time I go skate shopping.” Keith flinches slightly when the cold winter air hits his face, tucking his hands into the thin jacket he had pulled on earlier. He didn’t think it would be as cold as it is so he is definitely underprepared.

Lance seems to notice his reaction. “Did you not bring your heavier jacket?” His breath comes out in puffs of steamy air, pointing out just how cold it is outside.

Keith shakes his head. “It’s fine, though. I’ll survive.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Lance scoffs as he pulls his bag in front of his chest and rummages through it for a few seconds before producing an equally as bright blue scarf from its depths. “Here. Use this.”

Keith appraises it with a quirk of his brow. “What? Are you going to lend me the rest of your wardrobe next?”

“Would you just shut up and take the scarf? It’s freezing out here.”

Keith rolls his eyes, but caves nevertheless, accepting the scarf and wrapping it around his neck. The instant protection from the wind’s bite is definitely appreciated, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t momentarily revel in the smell of Lance that surrounds him. It’s right there, in front of his face and wrapped around his nose, so what is he supposed to do? Of course, that doesn’t stop the mild flush that creeps up his neck. He pulls it over the bridge of his nose to hide and Lance catches the movement, tilting his head questioningly.

“I guess it helps?”

Keith can only nod, keeping his eyes ducked down and praying Lance mistakes the red blush of his ears as the wind’s cold kiss. They follow along behind Pidge and Hunk, who chat about lunch options, to Hunk’s old car and Keith tries his best to breathe normally even though his heart hiccups erratically in his chest.

 

Later that night, when lunch has come and gone and they all took their separate ways, Keith will lie to himself that he forgot to give Lance back his scarf. But he and his hiccuping heart know better than that, sharing in his selfish secret as he slowly and hesitantly unwraps it from around his neck. The smell of sharp cinnamon and cologne clings to his skin for many more hours that night, whispering to him as he drifts off in the dark.

 

That was the moment Keith knew he was a goner.

* * *

 

Keith had a few errands to run in the time between his lesson with Allura and when he was told to meet the others at the rink. By the time he gets there, it’s late enough that the parking lot is completely empty and void of any signs of life. He can’t even find Shiro or Hunk’s cars in their usual sports and briefly wonders if he got the time wrong. That concern is short lived, however, as the sound of muted music hums across the main lobby from the direction of the rink. He pushes the doors open and quickly spots Hunk, Pidge, and Lance looping around the ice lazily while (the now much louder) music fills the air. He wanders closer as they work their way through jumps and turns without hardly any effort, finally sporting Allura, Matt and his brother chatting by the boards a few rows over.

Shiro notices him first and lifts a hand to wave. “At last.”

“Am I late?” Keith frowns as he weaves between seats. “I thought Pidge told me eight?”

Shiro shakes his head, turning to lean against the boards and watching Keith approach. “Nah, they always start early. Pidge in particular isn’t one for waiting when booze is involved.”

“Booze?” Keith looks over to the skaters and comes to a stop by his brother’s side. “Is it really safe for them to be drunk while skating?”

Matt butts in, then, with a tired but amused look in his eye. “If you think Pidge is anywhere near drunk you are horribly mistaken. They may be small, but they can handle their liquor better than any of us older geezers.”

“Besides,” Allura adds offhandedly. “We couldn’t stop any of them from skating if we tried.”

Hunk suddenly scrapes to a halt right next to them, placing his hands against the boards with a bright smile. “Keith! You made it!”

“Yeah,” Keith rubs at the back of his head with a more bashful smile of his own. “I had a few things to do, so I couldn’t make it as early as you guys.”

Hunk waves off Keith’s apology. “No worries. Lance brought a few drinks if you want any, but most of the soof and stuff is at our place. We should be heading there soonish but Lance insisted on this first.” He gestures out to the rink where Lance and Pidge seem to be competing against each other, one-upping their last jumps with bigger and bolder moves.

“I’d ask if this was the alcohol’s fault, but knowing Lance I’m sure it’s not.” Keith says with a smirk.

“You’re right about that.” Shiro adds, sighing as he folds his arms over his chest. “Although the alcohol doesn’t help.”

Out on the ice, Lance and Pidge seem to be at a stand off, staring at each other with mild glares. Lance pushes the hair from his face and tilts his head to the side, his expression is almost intimidating.

“Do you _really_ want me to pull out my 2014 Gala routine?” He asks as Pidge sighs loudly.

“Oh, don’t start with that. We’ve all seen it a hundred times already.”

Lance doesn’t pay much attention to their words and begins to slowly work his way through some basic footwork - slow looping steps and exaggerated body rolls combined with a few teasing looks shot their way.

“Lance, nooo _oooooo_.” Pidge flat out groans, throwing their head back.

“Come on, PIdge. It’s a fun routine!” He swoops in beside them as he garnishes a finger gun. “Just because you hate gala events doesn’t mean everyone does.”

Pidge looks like they’ve had this conversation a hundred times and has absolutely _no_ patience for it anymore. “Galas aren’t for anything real. It’s just a chance for people to show off and skate weird routines, which is why _you_ like them so much.”

“Are you calling me weird?” Lance looks over his shoulder before working his way into a spin.

Pidge shrugs. “I didn’t not say it.”

Lance rolls his eyes but seems to be done with the conversation and moves off to dive deeper into the routine. Pidge gives up pretty shortly after and skates off towards the rest of them, shaking their head unhappily. They start talking once they get within earshot. “I will not be subjected to this again. He could at least learn a new gala routine if he’s going to skate one every chance he gets.”

“He needs to attend a gala to have a new routine, Pidge.” Hunk retorts.

Pidge looks at him with disappointment. “Ooorrrr he could just learn a new one so that we aren’t subjected to this damn routine every time he has an ounce of alcohol in his system.”

“He…” Shiro pauses, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. “He _does_ seem like this routine.”

Pidge lolls their head to the side to look at him. “He’s Lance. Are you surprised?”

“Not in the slightest.” Shiro chuckles lightly but quickly moves to change the conversation. “Alright, if you’re so eager to miss this routine, why don’t you help me close up the arena so that we can head out?”

“Oh I’ll take that offer.” They hop off the ice and plop themselves down in a seat dramatically, taking their skates off in what Keith assumes is record timing.

Shiro turns to look towards Matt as Pidge hops back to their feet in excitement. “Matt, can you shut down the tech room before we go?”

Matt spares a brief glance at Lance on the ice. “I’ll wait for The Drama King to be done, but - sure, of course.” The three of them head off with brief instructions to meet in five minutes and leaves Allura and Hunk to chat about something else.

Keith is trying to focus on the conversation around him, he really is, but damn if this routine isn’t the most distracting thing he’s ever seen. It’s arguably the most suggestive thing he’s seen anyone - let alone _Lance_ \- ever do. So many fucking bodyrolls, so many sensual drag of Lance’s hands on his chest, so many swipes of his hair. It’s hell. He slides across the ice at a few points, back and stomach picking up shaved ice as he does, and Keith has to actively fight to keep the blush down. This was a very bad idea and Keith knows it. The combination of Lance’s attractiveness and his sheer athleticism will be Keith’s downfall. He quietly thanks the universe that he’s witnessing this routine _before_ alcohol because he isn’t sure his self control would be strong enough had he been a few drinks in.

Outside of the blatant, lewd gawking Keith is exhibiting in this moment, he’s not blind to the other aspects of the moment. Lance is so at ease when he’s skating, like he belongs on the ice more than he does solid ground, but something about this routine makes him look so… genuine? Most other routines are just technique to Lance - step, step, crossover, change edge, so on and so forth. He follows the rhythms and adds in the emotional cues at all the right beats to pull spectators in like moths to a flame. But they never feel 100% real to Keith; they’re always a little too force, a little too planned. Until this routine, honestly. From what Keith can tell, this routine is _very_ different from the requirements of most competing routines. Fewer jumps, less complex footwork sequences, more casual in its presentation. It’s loose, relaxed, and genuine. It’s mesmerizing to watch… even beyond the obvious suggestions of the routine.

Keith doesn’t want to admit just _how_ wrapped up in Lance’s movements he gets, but it takes a rather unsubtle clearing of Hunk’s throat to snap him out of it. The light flush that was building over his chest suddenly blooms and spreads up to his neck.

“Oh - uh,” Keith licks his lips anxiously and tries to recover slightly, grasping at the edges of his composure. “Sorry, what did you say?”

Hunk raises his brows at him in an expression that is slightly too knowing for Keith’s taste but he doesn’t say anything about it. “I asked if Shiro said anything to you?”

Keith looks at him in confusion then over to Allura who still stands beside them. “...About?”

Hunk doesn’t really answer him, instead letting his gaze slide to the rink where Lance continues his journey across the ice. “So… I guess you don’t mind the routine as much as Pidge does.”

“Well, I - uh…” He feels like melting into the ground but he, very unfortunately, reminds above it and is left to scramble. “I was just - I recognized some of the moves from class and… was… thinking.”

“Thinking?” Hunk repeats with a tiny smirk that seems to mock Keith’s pathetic excuse for a coverup. Keith, however, can only nod silently so Hunk continues on. “Right. You must be learning a lot from this, then?”

“Definitely.” Keith squeaks out. They enter into a silent staredown that feels way too much like Hunk is waiting for Keith to crack under his scrutiny. He doesn’t seem like he’ll push the subject anymore, though, so Keith awkwardly clears his throat and tries for a decent segue. “They’re tough. The lessons, I mean. Actually… tougher than I’d thought they’d, uh, be…”

“Really?” Allura jumps in then, ignoring whatever silent face off the two of them just shared. “I didn’t think you were struggling that much.”

“Oh no, not -” Keith waves his hands. “I mean, it isn’t a _breeze_ , but I’m catching on faster than before that’s for sure.”

“Well that’s good.” She nods, content with his report, and is stopped from saying more by the abrupt sound of skates scraping across ice.

Lance slides into few, out of breath and smiling brighter than Keith has seen in awhile, and greets Keith excitedly. “Oh! So you decided to join us after all?”

Keith’s blush returns almost immediately so he ducks his head to hide it as best he can. “I said I’d be here didn’t I?”

“I guess so.” Lance shrugs and steps over the boards to the seats where he starts to untie his laces. “I mean, you haven’t been subjected to Drunk Pidge _or_ Drunk Hunk yet so you have no reason to run.”

Hunk shoots him a look, paired with a roll of his eyes. “Hey, I’m not that bad. At least I don’t try to set things on fire.”

“No, but you _do_ get pretty clingy.” Lance quips back, pulling one skate from his foot and popping on a winter boot in its place. “Sometimes with complete strangers.”

Hunk looks to Keith and shrugs. “What can I say? I’m a happy drunk.”

“You are all dangerous while drunk and you can’t deny it.” Shiro’s voice drifts over to them as he slowly strolls down the aisle, neither Pidge nor Matt in tow behind him. “That’s why we’re escorting you for most of the ride.”

Keith raises a brow at his brother. “So you’re not joining us for a night of partying?”

“I’m too old for that, little brother.” Shiro shakes his head then gestures between him and Allura. “Us old folks are headed home to rest like boring adults do.”

Lances rises to his feet and shoots Shiro a grin. “Well at least you’re _aware_ of how boring you are.”

“Fully.” Shiro retorts with a roll of his eyes. “Anyways, the rest of us are ready to go so whenever you guys are done we can head out.”

Lance lets out a quick whoop and slings an arm over Hunk’s shoulders, leading the group up the aisle toward the lobby. Allura shoots Shiro a look of her own - part exasperation, part amusement - and heads up to join him, leaving Keith to take up the rear. Lance seems beyond excited by what’s to come, his voice carrying above them with enthusiasm.

“Now the _real_ fun begins!”

Lance and Hunk’s apartment is much nicer than Keith’s, in both size and status. It isn’t pristine like his brother’s is, but it doesn’t look like a hurricane went through it, like Keith’s does on a daily basis. He feels a wave of retroactive embarrassment wash over him, remembering that he _actually_ dragged Lance into his disaster of a home and forced him to sleep on a damn futon. Meanwhile, he’s being brought over to their place that’s fully stocked with food and booze, and dressed with comfortable looking furniture and real bedrooms. They have rooms. Plural. What must it be like to live in a world where your kitchen, living room, and bedroom aren’t all in the same space? Keith doesn’t know.

Shiro, Allura, and Matt had abandoned them halfway through the train ride there, splitting off on their own routes (although Keith _does_ notice that his brother and Allura head off in suspiciously similar directions, but he doesn’t comment on it). Follow that train of thought, Matt seems to be far more… relaxed around Shiro now, not to mention all of that stuff with Kale. Keith can only assume that Shiro took Allura’s advice and talked to him about everything. It’s only fair, honestly; the guy’s been harbouring some intense feelings for a long time and he deserves to be told the truth. Even if Matt knows the truth anyways, he deserves to hear it out loud. For as annoying as his brother can be, he’s a good person above all else, so Keith had no doubt that he’d do that right thing - no matter how awkward it may be. He’s happy for them, for things having work out in the end, and he’s ever thankful that Shiro and Allura aren’t fans of PDA because Keith couldn’t handle that.

So now the ‘youngins’ - as Shiro affectionately called them - are left to their devices, unsupervised, and crammed into the space around Lance and Hunk’s living room table. There is a fair amount of wiggle room between them at first, with Keith and Lance occupying the couch, Pidge on the spare lazyboy, and Hunk cross-legged on the floor. Of course, that’s before Hunk receives a series of texts, which he responds to with a bright, glowing grin plastered to his face, and excuses himself from the apartment. He returns about ten minutes later with a woman on his heels who is equally as kind as she is tall, and both of them sit on the floor as Hunk makes introductions. Shay seems to be a little on the quieter side, a little flighty even, but overall she’s friendly and manages to keep up a relatively normal conversation with Keith who has the social skills of a rock so that’s saying something. Pidge is a little put off that Keith didn’t get to meet the illustrious Sugar Cookie, but Lance assures him that this isn’t a bad thing, earning an eye roll from both Shay _and_ Hunk. Keith doesn’t miss how they act around each other (it’s hard to miss, honestly) but neither of them do anything that screams ‘we’re dating’ despite their clinginess and too-long touches. He exchanges a look with Lance who only nods in understanding, tossing back another mouthful of beer.

Keith also won’t complain about being tucked into the loveseat with Lance. His cheeks are flushed pink from the alcohol, being a decent handful of drinks in at this point, and his gestures are just a little too wide and wobbly for him to pass as sober. But Keith doubts he’s fully drunk either; he’s still coherent for the most part. And upright. However, he quickly becomes less convinced that he’ll stay that way, especially when Pidge appears with a bottle of vodka in one hand and a few shot glasses in the other. Lance grins, eyes devilishly narrowed and reaches for a glass.

 

“Alright, let’s get the party _actually_ started.”

* * *

Drunk Lance - as Keith quickly learns - is a sight to behold.

He is incredibly enthusiastic about pretty much everything going on around him. A new bag of chips? A miracle. Hunk makes a semi-coherent joke? Top notch comedy. Pidge proposes a party game? They are officially a genius prodigy decedent from Einstein. Of course, this goes in the opposite direction as well. When Keith seized a freshly poured glass of… _something_ from Lance’s hands, it’s as if he just declared war on Lance’s entire family. Drunk Lance can also sport one hell of a pout when he wants to. Face smushed against the back of the couch, he stares up at anyone who so much as gives him an ounce of attention and promptly manipulates them into doing his bidding when they cave. Shay, being the only remaining mostly sober person in the room alongside Keith, was surprisingly weak to his pleas. She had a particularly soft spot for Hunk - which came as no shock to Keith - and even agreed to some of his more outrageous drunken ideas. Deadlifting Pidge and Lance’s combined weight being one of said outrageous ideas. And order four extra large pizzas being another one.

Although, Keith _did_ notice that she used Hunk’s credit card to pay, tucking it back into Hunk’s wallet lying on the counter as she apologised to the very exhausted looking pizza guy when Pidge nearly spilt half their drink on his uniform. He also noticed how weak she mixed everyone’s drinks and the strategically placed bowls of food that she aligned throughout the room. She’s clearly babysat the group of them during one too many parties and Keith almost feels bad for her.

Of course, they _are_ pretty entertaining - especially Hunk, who is usually the most mature member of the trio. It didn’t take many drinks for him to loosen up some and tag along on the other two’s shenanigans. He was even a little more openly affectionate with Shay, leaning fully against her after the main wave of drunkenness hit him without so much as a glance in anyone else’s direction. The puppy dog eyes coming from both of them were a little intense and it felt intrusive for Keith to look in as they spoke under their breath to each other. Pidge made faces in his direction a few times, but for the most part nobody said anything as they were usually too wrapped up in their own dramatics. Pidge was the instigator for most of it, to be honest, and Keith stopped them from venturing out of the apartment a few times for whatever errand they had on their mind. He didn’t trust them to 1) exist in a public setting while this intoxicated, 2) be able to make sound decisions on what was and wasn’t a good idea for an errand, or 3) be physically capable to get out of the apartment without tumbling down a full flight of stairs. How someone so small could drink so much liquor and still have the alertness to be up and about was beyond Keith, and yet here they were.

Keith isn’t going to complain about _everything_ , however… There are the perks to a drunken Lance, when you get past his over the top enthusiasm.

Drunk Lance has a limited understanding of normal, every day personal space which would be annoying on any other drunk person, but when it’s _Lance_ whose face is mere inches from Keith’s… he doesn’t mind all that much.

Drunk Lance also tends to be way touchier than Sober Lance. Keith very quickly lost count of how many times his heart would stupidly, _dramatically_ skip when Lance fingers would graze his forearm while he spoke. He stopped trying to control the flutter in his chest when Lance would so casually place a hand on Keith’s knee during one of his particularly excitable stories. Drunk Lance didn’t notice the way Keith felt like floating into the atmosphere, weightless like a cloud, or the way he, too, leaned one inch closer than he normally would.

Drunk Lance had a way of pulling the bravery out of Keith, even when the alcohol in his system settled into a comfortable buzz and stole his only excuse. Drunk Lance had a way of making Keith not give a fucking damn about any of that. Drunk Lance had a way of encouraging Keith to dive headfirst into the pool of warmth brewing under his skin whenever they so much as looked at each.

Drunk Lance was dangerous, Keith decided.

But since when has Keith shied away from danger?

 

“Okay but seriously,” Lance starts, words starting to slur into one another as he leans in beside Keith with his nose nearly pressed into his shoulder. “Why the mullet?”

Keith does his best to not smile fondly down at the flushed face peering up at him, but he knows he fails. Even  though he may not be drunk like the most of them, he is not immune to the slow crawl of heat in his chest from his earlier drinks. It’s definitely got a hold of his brain at this point and is almost entirely to blame for Keith’s bravery. Almost.

He shrugs, the fabric over his shoulder just barely brushing against Lance’s nose but neither of them move away from the other. “Why _not_ a mullet?”

“I refuse to accept that answer.” Lance frowns at him although it holds no ounce of intimidation whatsoever. “A mullet is a _decision_ and you have to have a reason.”

“I don’t see why it matters, honestly.”

Lance scoffs, almost offended. “I don’t see how _you_ don’t see why it matters.”

“Aren’t you too drunk to be using double negatives?” Keith teases with a quirk of his brow, but Lance remains amusingly serious so he caves, sighing and reaching up to run a hand through his hair. “ _Fine_.”

Lance’s eyes spark with excitement then and he sits up straighter beside him. “Ah ha! I broke you! I’m like the Sherlock Holmes of shitty hairstyles.”

“I don’t think that analogy quite fits, actua-”  
“Shh, shh - I don’t need your babbling, Watson.” Lance waves his hands to dismiss Keith’s argument. “Now explain this disaster.”

Keith rolls his eyes, conceding because he knows that Lance is too drunk to reason with anyways, and shrugs. “There’s no real ‘reason’, Lance. I was too lazy to get my hair cut and it grew out like this.”

“Wait.” Very abruptly, Lance propels himself upright with a mixture of shock and disgust on his face. He seems to be pretty wobbly, however, and  Keith steadies him with a hand on his shoulder which Lance quickly bats away. He gawks at him as he continues and Keith holds back a bubble of laughter at his dismay. “Are you telling me that… that your hair hasn’t been cut in…”

It’s as if he can’t even bear the thought of finishing his sentence so Keith raises a brow, questioningly, and finishes it for him. “A few years, yeah.”

“ _Years_.” Lance practically whispers the word, his face coiling into a grimace as he does. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. I’m one hundred percent serious.”

Lance’s mouth opens and closes as he tries to process his thoughts, which Keith is sure are traveling at a mile a minute, before eventually settling on a bewildered. “ _Keith_!”

He really can’t help the laughter this time, trying to cover his mouth with his hand even when Lance reaches out to shake his arm wildly. “It’s just hair.”

At this point, Lance seems unable to do much more than stare on, flabbergasted and horrified, and it grows progressively more entertaining to Keith, whose laughter then grows even stronger. “I am so -” Lance cuts himself off with a sigh and a shake of his head, letting go of his grip on Keith’s arm. “Of all the people… You just _had_ to be some hermit with a shoebox apartment who hasn’t cut his hair in years, didn’t you?”

“I mean,” Keith’s giggles slowly die and he clears his throat with a shrug. “We can’t all be high maintenance primadonnas with an hour long skincare routine.”

“Ex _cuse_ me, it’s only half an hour long.”

Keith raises his brows with a smirk. “Yeah, half an hour every morning and night. Last I checked, that adds up to an hour a day.”

“Hmm,” Lance doesn’t protest which really only proves Keith’s point, but he allows Lance to move on, his expression dropping into something closer to mild confusion. “We…” He pauses, sighing and Keith tilts his head with a  frown. “We’re pretty different, aren’t we?”

That wasn’t what Keith expected, honestly, and he starts, gaze darting briefly between Lance’s eyes. “Um - I don’t know?”

“I mean,” Lance turns his face away to stare off across the living room where the rest of the group chats amongst themselves, seemingly oblivious to the two of them. “Isn’t it weird that we’re friends? Shouldn’t we, y’know, not get along?”

“What? Where did this even come from?”

Lance shrugs, keeping his eyes focused pointedly away from Keith as he talks. “I don’t know. I just don’t think we would have been friends if I had met you at school or something ‘cause we didn’t really get along at first.”

“...Okay?” Keith’s frown deepens and he leans forward on his knees to try and catch Lance’s eye. “I don’t think I get what you’re trying to say, Lance.”

“I’m not saying we _shouldn’t_ be friends or whatever,” Lance says suddenly, like the implications behind his words finally caught up with him, and he meets Keith’s gaze with one hand outstretched, as if to comfort. “That’s not it at all.”

Keith quirks a brow, almost a little taken aback by Lance’s earnestness. “Yeah, okay… You’re not making a lot of sense, dude. Maybe we should have cut you off a few drinks ago, hm?”

“I’m just happy that we’re actually friends, that’s all. I thought I had fucked everything up ‘cause I was such a jerk at the beginning so - yeah I’m glad.” Lance says with another shrug and continues on with such an easy, casual tone. “You’re a pretty good guy, Keith. Hunk said it when we first met but again: I was a jerk then. But… yeah - I like you and I’m glad you didn’t get sick of me.”

 _I like you_.

His brain latches onto those three words and promptly sets off an elaborate display of fireworks while Keith wildly tries to put them out. Innocent. That was totally innocent, totally platonic, and there is absolutely no need to read too far into that as he is so prone to doing. Lance is absurdly drunk and also absurdly _not_ into Keith so this needs to stop now.

“Oh… No problem. You’re, uh, a good guy, too.” Keith clears his throat, ducking his eyes while Lance looks on, honest and open. “And, um, no worries about the stuff at the beginning. I wasn’t exactly… an _angel_ either.”

Lance scoffs. “You’ve got that right.”

“ _Hey_.”

“I’m not the one who said it,” Lance holds up his hands in defense. “You are.”

Keith narrows his eyes and leans back into the cushions while Lance tucks one foot under himself. “Doesn’t mean you had to agree so quickly.”

“Mmmm,” Lance hums thoughtfully to himself with a quick tilt of his head. “I mean, you _are_ pretty good with kids so that’s at least one point for you.”

Keith frowns although he can’t ignore the spark of amusement at the back of his mind. “I wasn’t aware I was gathering points.”

“I said _one point_ for being good with kids,” Lance counters with a smirk. “But you still have minus ten thousand points for a shitty haircut.”

With a scoff and a dramatic roll of his eyes, Keith throws his hands up. “Again with the haircut.”

“It’s terrible, Keith. You can’t expect me to let it go.”

“I can and I do.” Keith sighs. “You can’t hold onto it forever.”

Lance raises an eyebrow at him. “Wanna bet? Hey Hunk!”

Hunk, who is mid-fist fight with Pidge, looks over to Lance all the while standing his ground as Pidge throws almost their entire weight into the fight. “Yeah, dude?”

“Remember that time you knocked over my favourite limited edition shade of nail polish that I wore when I won Nationals?”

Hunk sighs loudly. “How could I forget when you remind me at least once a month?”  
“And how many years ago was that?”

“Three.”

Lance gestures matter of factly at Hunk (who is barely paying attention to the fight despite Pidge being red in the face from exertion) and then folds his arms over his chest. “There you go.”

“Great.” Keith replies sarcastically, although he is a little concerned about the very real possibility that Pidge could break their wrist in a matter of seconds. “So I have three years of constant nagging to look forward to.”

“Correction:” Lance holds up one finger. “Your whole life.”

Keith is very tempted to snark something back at him, but considering how he wobbles in place, it seems somewhat futile to bicker with a drunk man. More importantly, however - Pidge suddenly slams their free hand on the table, hissing air out from between their teeth.

“ _Come on_ , _Hunk_ !” They whip their head up to glare at him through their drunken haze. “You aren’t even _trying_!”

Hunk looks at them, almost sympathetically, and pulls his brow into a sad frown. “Pidge, if I gave it my all, your arm would be broken.”

“ _TRY ME_.”

So, with a heavy sigh, Hunk turns his attention to Lance and Keith and stares deadpan as he slowly pushes into Pidge’s grip and guides their hand towards the table. There was no pomp and circumstance about this win, it was humane, like he was putting them out of their misery. With a smile, he reaches forward to slowly unwind Pidge’s fingers from around his hand to free himself. Pidge, whose face is now slightly purple, has collapsed onto the table with a groan of defeat and exhaustion.

“Just you wait, Hunk.” Although they’re face is buried into the coffee table, they raise a finger to point threateningly in Hunk’s direction. “I will beat you.”

“Sure you will, Sport.” Hunk raises a hand and awkwardly pats Pidge on the head, like their a small child. “Anyways, I’m getting myself another beer. Anyone anything?”

Most of the room calls out their orders so Hunk heads off to the kitchen, repeating the long list quietly to himself so he doesn’t forget, and Keith huffs out a quiet laugh. Lance looks at him questioningly so he shrugs. “I don’t know. I just - I guess I haven’t gone out with friends in a while and it’s… it’s pretty nice.”

“Well, then.” Lance places a hand on his shoulder, fingers just barely passing the collar of his shirt onto his skin, and gestures around the room with his other one. “Welcome to the family.”

 

The night progressed as Keith expected it would: more drinking and more drunken nonsense.

Shay had pulled up some game on everyone’s phone that was kind of like Pictionary but even more bizarre, especially when those playing are mostly drunk off their minds. Pidge, somehow, had annihilated the rest of them and won every single round while Keith struggled to draw a straight line on his shitty cell phone screen. He didn’t mind much, though, ‘cause Lance would inch closer to spy on his work, radiating warmth against Keith’s side. He reminded him several times that this was technically cheating, but he never fought _too_ hard to push him away, especially when he’d drop his chin onto the thin fabric over Keith’s shoulder with a grin.

Normally, Keith would be far more hesitant when it came to openly flirting ( _dear Lord, he was flirting with Lance_ ) and even _more_ hesitant when so many people were around, but the liquor still pumping through his veins has erased all of that uncertainty and replaced it with unabashed bravery. Of course, that doesn’t stop him from checking in on the others around him whenever he leans just a little too close or stares at Lance’s mouth for one second too long. They all seem to be pretty wrapped up in their own affairs, though; Pidge has been working tirelessly on building a pyramid of cans while Hunk and Shay talk in low voices to one another, lost in their own unabashed bravery. So, Keith throws away the ore and lets his buzz carry him through the waves, riding whatever the hell he’s feeling.

It doesn’t take long, of course, for the others to start tapping out. It’s late - or early, depending on how you look at it - and most of them have plans tomorrow, which means they need sleep. Hunk and Shay are the first to go, the prior offering to stay at Shay’s so he can leave his bed to whoever needs it. It’s a pretty weak excuse but Keith doesn’t blame him or really care. The two of them seem about ready to pass out, anyways, so they all wave goodnight before the door clicks shut behind them. Pidge is essentially asleep on the coffee table as it is, face smushed into their forearm folding underneath them, and requires several pokes to be woken up. Keith nearly drags them to Hunk’s room, their feet tripping over nothing, so he can gently deposit them on top of the blankets. They’re out in a matter of seconds, arms splayed out awkwardly around them, so Keith takes their glasses from off their nose and lays them on the bedside table.

Lance doesn’t look much more alert when he returns. The alcohol has obviously caught up with him at this point as his eyes lazily follow Keith cross the room to drop down on the couch beside him, but he’s too stubborn to call it quits and picks up a new conversation like it was nothing. They talk for another hour or so, nothing of substance but Keith doesn’t care - this is the most time he’s had alone with Lance in a long time and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t love every second of it. The conversation dies eventually and the room falls silent. Not a smothering silence, but a comforting one. Soft and enveloping that further feeds the pool of warmth in Keith’s chest started by the booze. He leans a head back against the couch and sighs, letting himself drift deeper into it, while Lance sighs contently. Keith watches his profile with glassy eyes, for once unafraid of having him notice because he has his slowly dying buzz as an excuse for his bravery (despite not really being _that_ drunk). There’s something about Lance when he’s finally relaxed that sets Keith’s heart at ease. He always carries this… layer… with him wherever he goes, guarding him, shielding his authenticity from the rest of them. He seems carefree and easy, but as they spend more time together, Keith notices the calculated expressions and gestures that frame his words, laid out carefully for the world. Now, though - there’s no guard or shield or layer between them and Keith drinks it in without shame. He briefly wonders when he’ll see Lance this way every day - _if_ that will ever happen.

Quietly, Lance lets out a heavy yawn, nose scrunching up as he does. Keith laughs lightly and raises a brow at him. “You getting tired over there?” He can feel the affection in his gaze when he speaks, something at the back of his mind telling him to reel it in a bit, but what remains of his buzz ignores it.

“No,” Lance reaches up to tiredly rub at his eyes, barely stifling another yawn.

“You sure?”

He leans back against the couch, shoulder inches from Keith’s. “Positive.”

“Hmm,” Keith hums, turning his head to keep his eyes on the flushed skin of Lance’s cheeks. “That’s funny, ‘cause you look pretty tired to me.”

Lance faces him as well and watches him lazily. “That’s funny, ‘cause I don’t remember asking what you thought.”

Any bite that could have accompanied his words is lost to the drawl in Lance’s voice, hazy and slurred, and Keith snorts. “Good to know your stubbornness sticks around even when you’re drunk.”

“Hey now - no one’s more stubborn than you!”

“Oh really?”

“ _Really_.”

Lance’s tiny frown is too endearing for Keith to find his (pitiful) arguing annoying, so he only scoffs and shakes his head. “Well, if you’re really that wide awake, we’ll have to see how long you last.” Keith glances over at the clock on their shelf across the room, red _03:46_ blinking rhythmically back at him. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll pull an all-nighter.”

“Little do you know: I pull those all the time.” The last word is rounded out by a slightly louder yawn, escaping despite Lance’s attempts to cover it.

“Wow.”

He narrows his eyes at Lance. “‘Wow’ is right, Mullet. I can out-awake you any time.”

“.....’out-awake’? Did you really just say that?” Keith chuckles.

Lance doesn’t answer, choosing instead to jab a finger at Keith’s nose accusingly. The movement is lazy and disjointed though, his depth perception off, and ends up hitting him square in the face. Keith sputters, taken by surprise by the amount of strength coming from someone who is so shitfaced, but is quickly cut off by a pair of hands smushing his face from either side.

“Oh shit,” Lance leans close, finger creeping into Keith’s line of sight, and stares at him in concern. “I didn’t mean to actually hit you! Are you okay?”

“‘M fine.” Keith mumbles behind his grip and reaches up to swat at his hands, really only managing to free him for a second before Lance grabs ahold of him again.

“Are you sure?” He turns Keith’s face from side to side and inspects it closely. “What if your nose is broken again?”

Keith can’t help the laughter bubbling out him, still trying to pry his face away from Lance’s drunken grasp. “Holy shit, you’re so touchy when you’re drunk.”

“Keith, I could have _killed_ you.” Lance tries to emphasize the severity of the situation but the hiccup after Keith’s name makes it fall flat. “Take this _seriously_!”

Keith can’t help the roll of his eyes and finally manages to pull Lance’s hands back down into his own lap. “You go from breaking my nose to killing me in less than a second. Good to see that you’re not only just as stubborn, but also just as melodramatic when you’re drunk.”

“Mmph,” Lance mumbles as he leans against the back of the couch again, his cheek squished against the fabric, and stares up at Keith with as much defiance as he can manage in his inebriated state. “Yeah well you’re…. Just as…”

Keith raises an eyebrow at him, teasingly. “‘Just as…’?” But it’s too late; Lance’s eyes have drifted shut, probably by their own volition, as he starts to melt further into the couch. Keith sighs, reaching out to jiggle his knee. “I thought you weren’t tired?”

He receives nothing more than a half-hearted retort that is neither coherent nor audible while Lance slides down so that more of his weight is pressed into the cushions. Keith is _very_ aware of how close they’re sitting and of how much space there is behind Lance on the couch, but he’s doing his best to ignore those thoughts (no matter how loudly his heart screams at him). Keith has somehow managed to keep himself in that sweet spot between drunk and barely tipsy for quite some time now, and he’s thankful for the soft haze it’s layered over everything. Drunk Keith is not someone he trusts around Lance - especially considering his past experiences with Drunk Keith - but Happily Buzzed Keith is the perfect person to be left with Very Drunk Lance. The gentle hum of liquor in his veins is making him that much braver, that much calmer, that much more at ease, and he finds himself pressing his own face against the cushions, inches from Lance’s, just to breath it all in. And for a few seconds, it’s peaceful. For a few seconds, Keith lets himself imagine this being ‘normal’ for them. He imagines a world where he doesn’t need a few beers to sit those close to him, where he’s brave without the buzz, and where he could say every damn thought he thinks while counting the freckle constellations dancing across Lance’s nose.

That is, until Lance slides a little too far forward, temple leaving the soft fabric of the couch to find Keith’s shoulder.

 

He is _immediately_ sober, then. Whatever courage the booze had given him vanishes, ripped straight out from under him while he tumbles into freefall while his mind simultaneously grinds to a screeching halt.

 

Lance barely seems to notice, at that point in his drunkenness where he doesn’t care what (or who) he’s sleeping on, so long as he’s sleeping. He heaves out a sigh through his nose and it caresses Keith’s skin like morning dew on flower petals, cool and gentle enough to send a chill up his spine. All at once, Keith snaps back into reality, one hand on Lance’s shoulder as he tries to hoist him back upright.

“W-whoa,” he aims for somewhere between casual and teasing, but he’s sure it sounds far more panicked than he’d like. “Why don’t we, uh, get you to bed, huh?”

“Hmmmm,” Lance doesn’t seem to _actually_ hear him, responding on autopilot at this point, and remains limp against him with his shoulder know pressed squarely against Keith’s chest.

Keith tries to jostle him lightly, next. “Eh, Lance? Come on, man.”

“Mmm… wha... ?” Lance mumbles without bothering to look up. In fact, he pushes his nose further into the crook of Keith’s neck with another sigh that lingers longer across his skin.

Keith truly struggles to maintain his composure, clearing his throat and trying again to coax Lance up and away - far, far away. “Bed, Lance. _Bed_.”

“‘M…. tryin’ to.” Lance waves a hand at him, lazily dismissing that thought. “Sleep.”

“Not here.” Keith also tries to ignore the arm that Lance drapes over his lap, done so easily without thinking twice about it. He cranes his neck to catch a glimpse of Lance’s face, only managing to pull his cheekbone into his field of vision. “ _Your_ bed, Lance. Here, let’s go.”

He goes to stand but Lance, suddenly finding his strength, pulls him back down, this time dropping most of his weight across his chest and guiding them against the arm of the couch. Keith wasn’t wrong when he said Lance was a touchy drunk, but combine that with fatigue induced cuddling and you’ve got a recipe for Keith’s complete and utter demise.

“We can just…” Lance yawns loudly, adjusting himself so they both fit relatively well on the couch. “Stay here....”

No matter how much Keith tries to slip out from under Lance’s weight, he remains pinned there as a tired hand winds around his waist and a soft hum of contentment presses into his neck. Lance already has a leg halfway hooked over Keith’s thigh which sends his mind reeling into a panic.

_Bad idea. Bad idea. Bad idea._

“Lance, honestly, you have a _bed._  I can sleep here - it’s fine.” Keith starts, now fighting against the whispers in the back of his mind telling him to just shut up and lay down because isn’t that what he’s thought about so many times before? “You really shouldn’t -”

“Keith.” Lance looks up then, in a sudden moment of clarity, to meet his eyes, painfully close to Keith’s face. He doesn’t say anything, just watches him while Keith’s heart does somersaults in his chest, but then, so silently Keith isn’t completely certain he actually spoke: “Stay.”

 

That hum at the back of his mind, trying its hardest to convince Keith to be selfish for once, seems to laugh at the lurch in his heartbeat because it knows what his answer will be before he opens his mouth. It knows that Keith’s resolve around Lance is paper thin and that all it takes is one word from him to send him toppling head first into the deep end. That’s what it’s always been with him, even if Keith doesn’t want to admit it.

So - when Keith’s gaze follows the curve from one freckle to the next, stretching down from his nose to the outer corner of Lance’s eye, with a sigh soft like a breeze - the hum knows it’s won.

 

“Okay.” Keith says, voice dropped low as if he might shatter the air around them if he’s any louder. He slowly shifts until he’s laying on his back as Lance drops his head again, the sleepy haze pulled over his expression once more, and prays he can’t hear how his heart races through the thin fabric of his shirt. But Lance’s breathing has already fallen into the easy rhythm accompanying sleep and Keith can feel the flutter of his eyelashes against his neck. He reaches a hand up, not knowing what else to do, and lays it over Lance’s forearm that drapes across Keith’s stomach like it was the most natural thing in the world. He stares up at the ceiling, illuminated by soft light from the nearby window, and nods.

“Okay.”

* * *

 

Keith wakes up slightly disoriented.

He has no idea what time it is, in an environment he isn’t used to, with half of his body immobilized by an unmoving weight. Not to mention the ache in his neck from sleeping against a couch armrest that will absolutely bit him in the ass later.

But he can’t quite bring himself to care. Or, at least, isn’t _able_ to care. Not with the arm hooked across his chest, hand casually brushing up against his neck where Keith is sure his pulse slams under his skin. Not with the slow, even puffs of breath spread across his skin and send chills into his scalp. And certainly not with Lance’s legs intertwined with his own, which forces a blush up his neck to his ears.

Luckily for him, Lance still seems dead to the world. He’s completely limp, halfway thrown across Keith, while very faint snores escape from between his lips. Part of Keith wishes he could see Lance’s face from this angle, but a bigger part of him is thankful that he can’t because he’s certain his heart would give out instantaneously. He can’t say he doesn’t _enjoy_ waking up this way - it would be too obvious of a lie - but it’s very different from his usual morning routine so he can’t be blamed for taking a few extra seconds to relish in the moment. Lance, who is usually so lanky and tall, feels much smaller laying like this. Not only in the size he takes up, but in _presence_. Part of it, he’s sure, is because he’s not shooting sarcastic remarks at every person he sees, as he is so prone to do. But that same weightlessness he carried last night when the alcohol carried him high above his worries…. That same peacefulness is here now. None of his fears, his anxieties, or the demons that follow his every breath don’t exist here, in the quiet of this weekend morning.

This spell that’s cast over them… Keith desperately holds onto it, praying that it won’t break. At least for a little while longer. So, he turns his face toward the sleeping figure beside him and closes his eyes once more, for once hoping that sleep will leave him be to enjoy the time left until Lance wakes. He shifts his weight onto his shoulder, letting Lance’s hand fall between them, and wonders if he’ll believe him if he blames this all on the alcohol and exhaustion. But, once again, Keith can’t bring himself to care. Not when Lance reaches up in his sleep to wind that arm around Keith’s waist and send his heart to his throat.

Of course, it seems that Keith didn’t have to worry about _sleep_ taking this moment from him, but rather Pidge.

 

“Oh,” their face appears above him with a brow raised appraisingly as they whisper, sarcasm heavy in their hushed tone. Their hair is even more wild than it usually is, a night of drunken sleep the culprit behind their extreme bedhead, and is wearing a large band t-shirt Keith doesn’t remember them wearing before bed. “You’re awake.” Keith’s heart, beating two steadily seconds earlier, trips over itself and stalls as he stares back at them. No pretending to be asleep now - oh no, they’ve caught him. He gapes at them, struggling to come up with a response that will in any way explain what they’re currently looking at, but he only manages a sputtered ‘Pidge’ while trying to subtly pull himself away from Lance. They snort. “Yes, hello Keith. Sleep well?”

There is way more in their tone than Keith cares to unpack. “I, uh -” He wiggles a few inches towards the edge of the couch but a pair of hands grab ahold of his shirt hem and keep him in place. He tries again, reaching down to pull at Lance’s fingers. The guy is out like a light yet still manages to entrap Keith with a surprisingly strong grip and his limbs, wound around his legs like vines. When it becomes apparent that getting up means waking Lance up, Keith peers up at Pidge, who still watches him with amusement in their eyes. “Wanna… give me a hand, here?”

“Mmmm,” they tap their chin pensively. “I don’t know… You two sure look comfortable as you are.”

Lance, shifting in his sleep, reaches up and hooks his arm around Keith’s neck, abruptly pulling him closer. Keith puts a hand against the back of the couch, trying his best to not fall face first into Lance’s shoulder, and shoots Pidge an almost desperate look as he whispers as quietly as he can with his mouth inches from Lance’s ear. “ _Pidge_.”

They hold up their hands and snicker under their breath. “Alright, alright.” They disappear for a second, the padding of their feet against the apartment’s hardwood floor growing faint, pausing, then growing louder once more. They reappear above him with a pillow in hand and nods for Keith to move back. Which, clearly, has proven to be much easier said than done. Nevertheless, he ducks his head down and out of Lance’s arms, leaning back while Pidge quickly jams the pillow in to replace him. By some miracle, this works. Lance settles into the pillow, face squashed into the fabric, and allows Keith to shimmy further away, unhook his legs from Lance’s and slide onto the floor. Pidge only rolls their eyes as they lead Keith into the kitchen with a smirk. There’s about half a wall between the kitchen and the still-sleeping Lance, but Keith is pretty sure he’ll sleep through almost anything this morning so he’s safe where he is. Well… safe from Lance. Definitely not safe from Pidge.

“Clingy, isn’t he?” Pidge comments as they slide onto a stool next to the island, reaching for a mug of orange juice that’s already halfway empty.

Keith cringes internally, already dreading the conversation that’s about to happen, but tries to keep his face neutral on the outside and settles on a short, unbiased response. “So I’ve learnt.”

“We’ve shared a hotel bed quite a few times during competitions and I don’t think I’ve ever had a good night’s sleep with him in the bed beside me.” They hold the mug up to their mouth and take a swig. “Although he was _significantly_ clingier with you and it seems like you had no problems sleeping despite that - seeing as you were completely passed out when I strolled past an hour ago.”

Keith shrugs, turning to open the nearest cabinet in search for his own mug but coming across various spices instead. “Must of, uh, been the alcohol, I guess.”

“Ah, yes.” They nod sagely just as Keith comes across a cupboard full of cups. He snags one, barely catching a glimpse of their narrowed eyes before he reaches the sink to fill his glass. “How _did_ you two end up like that? The alcohol, I presume, was also to blame there.”

“Mhm,” Keith mumbles as he takes several mouthfuls of water and plops down in a seat next to Pidge without looking at them.

They hum quietly to themselves, boring holes into the side of Keith’s face as they do. “Interesting. You sure it was _just_ the alcohol?”

“He just… passed out.” Keith risks meeting their eyes with yet another shrug. Pidge looks unconvinced so Keith frowns and tries again, more forcefully. “He was drunk, Pidge, of course that was it.”

“Sure, he was drunk, but were you?”

He brings his cup to his lips again, if only to find an excuse to not answer them, but they are unwavering. He places the cup back on the counter and runs his finger over the rim absentmindedly. “I had… a _few_ drinks.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Pidge stares him down, clearly not giving an inch, and it’s unsettling to say the very least.

Keith really doesn’t think this is something they need to talk about, especially this early in the morning, but Pidge refuses to move on. That doesn’t stop him from derailing the conversation to escape their interrogation. “What about you? You drank more than any of us last night, so shouldn’t you be hungover right now?”

“I’m immune to hangovers; it’s a gift.” They throw back the end of their drink and fix him with a glare. “And nice try, but I’m not backing off that easily.”

“Pidge, please, come _on_.”

They jab a finger at him, then. “Hey! I’ve been onto this for so long now but I’ve kept my mouth shut until just now! Do you expect me to just casually ignore you two sleeping on a damn couch, wrapped up like pretzels? Keith, honestly.”

“Wait - how long is ‘so long’?” Keith stares at them incredulously but they wave a hand in between them.

“That doesn’t matter.”

He leans forward on the island so he can press his forehead to the cool wood and groan. “This was definitely not what I wanted to wake up to today.”

“Keith, the sooner you acknowledge this, the sooner the painful pining will end.” Pidge sounds utterly exasperated by Keith’s frustration, like it’s somehow unwarranted. “And when I say ‘painful’, I mean painful for both you and everyone around you. It hurts me to watch sometimes.”

Keith scoffs into the table, nose squashed against the surface enough to muffle his words. “Yeah, well, you kind of need to things to be reciprocated for anything to happen so acknowledging it won’t actually do much. I’ll just live in ignorant bliss for a little while longer.”

Pidge shoots him the most impressed look Keith has ever seen on them. “Keith.”

“Pidge.” Keith mimics, pushing his hair back from his face to fix them with a mockery of their expression.

“I just have one little question for you…” They lean forward and narrow their eyes slightly. “Are you a complete and utter moron?” Keith only rolls his eyes but they continue, pressing the issue further. “Honestly, are you dense?? Have you been paying attention to _anything_ Lance does? Because I have, and I can promise you that reciprocation is not something you need to worry about.”

“Pidge -”

“Uh uh,” they shake their head. “I know it’s pretty banged up after so many hockey fights, but your brain _has_ to have picked up on that. It’s too obvious to miss.”

Keith runs a hand across his face and sighs before meeting their eyes. “Pidge, honestly - he shuts me out after even the smallest question, he’s only _just_ started to really get along with me, and, honestly, I don’t think I’ve seen the Real Lance until a few days ago. There’s nothing going on here, trust me on this.”

“But last night -”

“He was drunk, Pidge.” Keith gestures off toward the other room where Lance still sleeps, curled up against the pillow. “I don’t think that’s an accurate representation of his feelings.”

Pidge glares at him for a few seconds, clearly not agreeing with any of this, but their eyes quickly soften and they sigh, shoulders sinking. “Keith, listen - I’m not trying to be a pain, I’m really not, but I know Lance pretty well. He’s not the kind to immediately open up to others or let people in… He may get along with almost everyone he meets but he… he hides things. And I can’t blame him for that. I only want the best for him.” They lean forward, enough to force Keith to meet their gaze before continuing. “And for you.” A pause while they let their words hand in the air between them, then: “I wouldn’t say any of this if I didn’t think it would be good for you two.”

Honestly, Keith’s head hasn’t quite caught up with the situation or even with anything that happened last night, so all he can do is sigh, back hunched over the table and his empty cup. “I… I don’t know, Pidge. I just…. don’t know.”

Pidge watches him for a few seconds, brows pulled together as they scrutinize him like they’re trying to solve the world’s toughest puzzle. There’s a part of him that wonders if Pidge will just let it be, move on like Keith hopes they will, because (even though he knows Pidge teases everyone almost incessantly), he also knows they’re more than the sarcasm and wittyy remarks. Pidge values their family more than anything else, blood or otherwise. And it feels strange to think it, but Keith is part of that now. He can see the fondness grow in their gaze with every passing day, warm and amused - even when they try to hide it, he sees it. He’d be lying if he didn’t feel the same for them; Keith was always the youngest in his house, with no other siblings to look after like his brother has, and he wondered what having a younger sibling would be like… wondered what being an older brother was like.

He imagined it would be a lot like this.

 

Caught up in his thoughts, his chest filling with a sudden surge of affection, Keith barely notices Pidge sigh and shake their head.

“You know…” They lean back in their chair to stretch their hands above their head. “You two can be pretty alike when you want to be. It’s no wonder you snuck up on all of us so easily - you fit in.”

“What? What do you mean?” Keith watches them roll their shoulders, slowly working out the kinks from a drunken night’s sleep.

“Doesn’t matter,” they drop their hands, a smile already on their lips, and slide off of their stool. “Anyways, why don’t we wake up the others, hm? I think Lance has had enough time to sleep off his hangover.”

“Uhm, I don’t know, he was pretty -”

Whatever Keith was about to say clearly isn’t a concern of Pidge’s, as they hop into the doorway leading to the main room and all but _scream_ Lance’s name at the unsuspecting victim. There’s the sound of someone lurching out of bed, blankets rustling, and Keith hears a few empty beer bottles clatter on the coffee table. Pidge smiles wider when a groan of pain drifts through the air, drawn out and enthusiastic, as Lance’s body reminds him of how much he _actually_ drank last night. Keith leans over to peer into the main room where Lance now sits up on the couch, knees pulled up to his chest as he leans over them, face in his hands, and groans once again.

“Oh my gooooodddd.” The words are muffled behind his hands, but the agony is crystal clear. “Am I dying? Is this what death feels like? “

Pidge shrugs and pushes away from the doorway to wade across the room. “Nah, it’s what being an idiot who over-drinks feels like. You did this to yourself, Lance.” With one sharp movement, they tear the curtains over, engulfing the room in bright morning light, and another complaint emerges from Lance, who topples over to bury his face into a pillow.

Keith now leans in the threshold between rooms, having slowly made his way over while Pidge dealt out their cruel and unusual punishment. He’s not… you know… the _happiest_ that Lance is now awake, because it means he has to deal with all of the post-drunk awkwardness. It was so easier to face him when Keith’s thoughts were a warm haze of contentment, but now the brutal, sober reality is hitting him square in the face and it’s not a pretty sight. Pidge’s presence is somewhat of a buffer, though, giving something for them both to cling onto that isn’t uncomfortable or embarrassing.

Although, there doesn’t seem to be much opportunity for awkwardness, as Lance is still face down on the couch, hands clamped to the edges of the pillow. Pidge strolls casually over to observe him with amusement; they’ve clearly seen him brutally hungover more than once and carries very little sympathy for his blight at this point. They bop him affectionately once on the head before half-skipping across the room to unearth their phone from where they left it last night. Lance, very obviously unhappy, pulls his face away from his hiding place and glares at them, chin resting on the pillow to display his pout. He doesn’t say anything though, because his eyes very quickly hone in on Keith and his gaze turns from vicious to incredulous.

“ _You_ ,” Lance props himself up on his forearms with only a minor wince. “You just let them torture me like that?”

Keith raises an eyebrow, trying to smother the smirk pulling at the corners of his lips when the full view of Lance’s bedhead comes into view. “What? Do you really think I could have done anything to stop them?”

Lance is about to answer but closes his mouth with a sigh and a grumble under his breath.

Pidge only laughs, eyes still on their phone. “Don’t look at us, Lance - you’re the one that drank yourself into a stupor.”

“I knooo _oooowwww_ ,” Lance moans as he rolls onto his back again and throws his arms in the air above him. “But a little sympathy would be nice.”

“If anyone is getting sympathy, it’s Keith for putting up with your drunk ass for longer than any of us did last night,” Pidge jabs a thumb in Keith’s direction and he wants to launch himself at them for even bringing that up, but it doesn’t matter because they’re already headed off towards the bathroom across from Hunk’s bedroom. “I’m gonna get cleaned up now and I’d suggest you do the same, Lance. You look like shit.”

Lance aggressively flips them the bird, but it only serves to make their laughter grow, still audible behind the now closed bathroom door. He quickly melts into another groan, hands dropping to cover his face. “This is it.” He says behind his fingers. “This is the last time I drink.”

Keith snorts loudly as he wades across the room to the coffee table beside the couch to collect the empties. “Something tells me you’ve said that before.”

“Yes,” Lance peeks out a him with a narrowed eye, as menacing as he can manage despite his somewhat sickly complexion. “But this time I _mean_ it.”

Keith rolls his eyes, but it mainly goes unnoticed when Lance buries his face once more with a pained sigh. This isn’t the first time he’s been ‘in charge’ of a horribly hungover friend and it certainly won’t be the last - not to mention that _he’s_ been the horribly hungover one a few times. Thanks to that, though, he has a few tricks up his sleeve. Arms full, he reaches up a foot and nudges Lance in the arm, jostling him slightly. “Hey,” Lance barely offers him much more than a quiet hum saying he’s listening for to Keith continues. “I used to make this smoothie that worked miracles on hangovers… I don’t know what you guys have in ways of groceries, but I can try to whip something up for you if you want?”

Lance, now rolling over on the couch, crinkles his face into a mock sob and rubs at his eyes. “Oh my god, you’re my fucking _hero_.”

That only makes Keith roll his eyes again, but he definitely doesn’t miss the way his heartbeat dances in his chest even though he tries to ignore it. He turns on his heels and nods for Lance to follow. “Alright, Mophead, I’ll need you to show me where things are, then.”

“ _You_ are calling me ‘Mophead’?” Keith hears the rustling of blankets followed by the soft padding of bare feet hitting the hardwood floor behind him, following in a slow pace. “ _Really_? I don’t think I have to remind you that you have a mullet, Keith.”

Keith shrugs just as he reaches the kitchen counter, shooting Lance a look before beginning to deposit the empties from his arms. “Sure, but I’m not the one who looks like he’s stuck his finger in an electrical socket.”

Lance sticks his tongue out at him as he dramatically drops onto a stool with a huff of indigence. And although Lance tries to hide it, Keith just barely catches him reaching up to smooth down his hair when Lance thinks he isn’t looking. He lets it slide (this one time) and moves onto the task at hand, already reaching up to the cupboard where he knows Lance keeps the glasses.

“So,” Keith starts as he pulls one out and places it on the table in front of Lance, who hurriedly resets into an easy slouch that is slightly too forced to be natural. “Let’s see what you guys have. Fruit?”

“Hunk is huge on cooking so I wouldn’t be surprised if that walking teddy bear of a man has literally everything you need.” Lance chuckles as he nods off towards the fridge. “He keeps a ton of frozen stuff in the freezer, but I honestly have no idea what there is. Knock yourself out.”

The blast of cold air against Keith’s face is refreshing despite the chill of the winter morning, with a small headache of his own brewing behind his eyes, and he relishes in the sensation as he does a quick sweep of the stock. There’s definitely enough to make up something close to the normal recipe, give or take a few ingredient swaps, so he reaches in and hauls out a few bags of frozen fruit.

“I guess you’re a decent cook, then?” Lance watches him curiously, albeit uncertainly, from his spot at the table, slowly spinning the glass Keith left behind in his hands.

Keith literally snorts at that and tugs open a bag of mixed berries. “Yeah, not quite. Smoothie making is the extent of my cooking skills, to be honest.”

“See that makes more sense.” Keith peers over him with an eyebrow raised, but Lance only shrugs. “What? You don’t seem like the self-sustaining, homemade meals kind of guy… More like the ‘eats nothing but granola bars for a week and is in serious risk of getting scurvy” kind of guy.”

Keith narrows his eyes at him as he pours a few things into the blender pushed to the side of the counter. “Oh, really? What about you, then, Chef Lance? What are _your_ cooking skills like?”

“Oh, I’m a shit cook.” Lance admits with surprising ease. “Hunk _likes_ to cook and is a master at it, so I just leave it up to him.”

“Hmmm,” Keith hums knowingly, popping open the fridge to hunt through its contents.

“Hey, I never said I was any better - so don’t get all smug on me.” Lance huffs behind him. “I’m as bad at cooking as I am good at skating.”

“I’m sure I have you beat,” Keith counters as he settles on a carton of obscure non-dairy milk substitute and turns back to the blender.

Behind him, Lance folds his arms. “Try me.”

“Okay,” Keith sighs. “I once cooked an entire bag of rice because I didn’t know how much to make.”

Lance rolls his eyes. “Oh, that’s nothing. One time I melted the top of our toaster by putting a plate over it while it was still on.”

Keith hears the edge of competitiveness in Lance’s tone, then, so he steps away from the blender to face him head on. It may be an embarrassing challenge to win, but it’s a challenge nevertheless.  “I fried Shiro’s waffle maker shut when I forgot I left batter in it.”

“Well, I melted a plastic cooking tray in the oven because I was too lazy to find a metal one.” Lance tilts his head to the side, tauntingly.

“I used to cook bacon on an iron because my stove didn’t work.” That one is more of a commentary on his living conditions, but Keith ignores that.

“I forgot to drain the pasta before adding the sauce.” Lance leans forward slightly, arms coming to rest on the tabletop.

“I smashed a whole egg in the pan when I tried to crack it.” Keith also ignores the fact that that happened literally a week and a half ago.

“I destroyed the microwave in our old apartment by heating up something with tinfoil on it.” While that was bad, it was also a little terrifying and has Keith wondering if Hunk feels safe living in the same household as Lance. Still, he doesn’t back down.

“Okay: I once burnt a hotdog while boiling it.”

There’s a pause where Lance stares at him, whatever pathetic cooking anecdote he had ready on the top of his tongue disappears and he runs a hand down his face. “Holy shit.” He leans back in his seat with a small smile on his face. “That’s actually kind of impressive, to be honest.”

“I told you,” Keith shakes his head. “I. Can’t. Cook.”

Lance holds up his hands in defense. “Alright, alright. You have me beat, I give.”

“What?” Keith feigns surprise as he turns back to the blender and drops in a few more ingredients before pressing the lid down on top. “The Great Lance is admitting defeat? You _really_ aren’t feeling well, are you?”

“Ha ha,” Lance responds dryly, but doesn’t comment on it, instead moving onto the next topic. “So, if you’re such a terrible cook, how did you master this magical smoothie? Too many crazy parties after hockey games?”

Keith doesn’t push his luck, no matter how badly he wants to, and laughs. “Well, yeah, but it wasn’t ever for me. Cover your ears.” He presses down on the blend button, holding the lid in place, just as Lance lifts his hands to his ears against the grinding of the blades. He still winces slightly, hangover headache probably slamming against his skull, but he still stares bug eyed at Keith. He mouths something that Keith can’t make out so he frowns back in confusion.

Lance tries again, still to no avail, so he raises his voice to a shout. “ ** _S_ _hiro_ ** **????”**

“ ** _Yup_** ,” Keith shouts back just as the blender slows down, the silence surprising him slightly, and he lowers his voice. “Yup. For Shiro.”

“No _way_!”

“Um…” Keith turns, blender in hand, and snags the cup from Lance’s fidgeting to begin pouring the now suspiciously green smoothie into it. “Yes way?”

“Oh my god, there’s literally no way.” Lance leans forward, staring him down intensely. “He’s _always_ criticizing us for showing up to practice hungover!”

Keith laughs and places the glass back down to slide it across the table as he takes his seat across from Lance. “If only you knew how many practices he showed up to _still drunk_. Sometimes even when he was our coach.”

“Holy shit.” Lance seems breathless, barely even looking at the glass as he accepts it and pulls it close. “This - This is _critical_ information! Why didn’t you tell me sooner??”

Keith rolls his eyes and taps at the glass again, urging Lance to drink. “Well, sorry for not realizing its importance earlier. How careless of me.”

“ _Very_ careless!” Lance exclaims as he brings the cup to his lips and takes the tiniest of sips, as if testing it first, but quickly pulls back to look at Keith in surprise. “All that talk about being a shit cook was making me pretty nervous to accept anything that was made with your two hands, but I’ll admit: this isn’t actually that bad.”

Keith laughs with an easy shrug. “It’s not exactly a gourmet recipe, so it’s pretty hard to fuck up.”

“You burnt a hot dog, Keith.” Lance deadpans. “While boiling it.”

“ _Either way_ -” Keith continues while very pointedly ignoring that comment. “You have Shiro to thank for forcing me to practice making that thing. I couldn’t tell you anything I’ve made more than that damn smoothie.”

“Thank you, Shiro.” Lance adds offhandedly before taking a longer swig of his drink and a small wave of colour returns to his complexion.

Keith takes this opportunity to roll his neck slightly, working out the knots that formed overnight from sleeping on an unfamiliar couch, and then slowly raising his arms above his head which rewards him with a few satisfying pops in his spine. He may sleep on a nasty excuse for a futon every other night, but there’s something about foreign territory that sets his whole system off track for a few days. Thankfully he’s free from practice for another week, which sets the small seed of anxiety brewing in his gut at ease. There’s no Coach there to jump down his throat for not taking better care of himself or a line up of teammates glaring at their captain in disappointment. Allura may be tough, but she doesn’t guilt trip him. So, he drops his hands back down, pausing to rub at a few tender spots on the back of his neck with a sigh.

“Did you sleep alright?”

Lance’s voice, curious in tone, matches the inquisitive tilt of his head as he snaps Keith out of his moment of mental solitude. “Huh?” He hums, pressing slow circles into his muscles while he focused back in on Lance.

Lance places his glass, which is now halfway empty, onto the table and gestures to Keith before continuing. “Your neck is sore. Did you not sleep well?”

In a sudden rush of unfortunate and cruel remembering, Keith is reminded of everything he desperately wanted to avoid during this conversation. More specifically: of nearly everything that happened last night. He had been fooling himself with idle conversation, tricking his mind into shutting out the panic, but there it is again - slamming into his chest head-on. Here comes the very moment that Keith ruins whatever web of friendship they had woven between us.

_Brace yourself, Keith._

“I, uh -” Keith manages, brain stalling to think up an excuse that will get him out of the room _right now_.

Lance, being Lance, rambles on completely unfazed by Keith’s stuttering. “I know I need to buy a new mattress, but it was either that or new skates and, honestly, I think the choice is obvious there. So, sorry if it was a bit lumpy.”

Wait a minute - the mattress?

Maybe he was lying, conjuring up a fairytale so they can both avoid the awkward conversation they’ve been desperately trying to avoid. Keith wouldn’t mind, to be honest. He’s more than okay with pretending nothing happened, with acting like he didn’t relish every second, like he didn’t make a hundred excuses in his mind to rationalize everything he did even though he _knows_ nothing will come of it. Of course, there’s no escaping the consequence; he can’t just run away from the mess that would follow, and that’s something he’s been actively ignoring.

But… if Lance gave him an out… He wouldn’t _have_ to face any of it. Keith could go on with his life without ever mentioning how light his heart felt when Lance asked him to stay, how his fingers raised goosebumps across his neck, how he would have stayed there on the couch for a few more hours if he could have, or how damn _right_ it felt to wake up with those stupidly long legs wrapped around his own.

And yet this didn’t seem like an out. Lance seems genuine, like he believes every word coming out of his mouth and like the threat of Keith’s hidden truth isn’t moulding his words into a pathetic excuse to save their asses. Could he… _really_ not remember? Was he really that drunk? He definitely wasn’t anywhere _near_ sober, but there were moments where Keith could hear the deliberateness of his words and actions... Either way, if Lance really didn’t remember, that’s a better excuse than Keith could have concocted on his own.

(And, despite the dip of disappointment in his chest, he continued to tell himself it’s a good thing Lance doesn’t remember.)

Banking on the chance that Lance was being honest, Keith latches onto the excuse to avoid the truth. “Oh, yeah - uh - it was fine.” He clears his throat and continues with as casual of a shrug as he can manage. “I mean, anything’s better than my bed so - yeah, it’s all good.”

“Honestly, you’re lucky that Drunk Lance convinced you to take his bed.” He reaches up to rub at his neck, flinching slightly at the pressure from his finger tips. “My whole back is _killing me_. I must have slept in the weirdest position if it’s this bad.”

Keith, not knowing how else to respond, mumbles an offhanded ‘ _I dunno_ ’ before reaching for Lance’s glass again. “More water?”

“ _Please_ ,” Lance replies with his head now bowed as he works at the lower muscles of his neck. “An advil would be nice, too; they’re in the cabinet to the left of the sink.”

Keith locates them pretty easily, rinsing and filling the glass while he convinces his anxious thoughts that Lance really, truly doesn’t remember and that there’s no need to panic. He doesn’t need to explain anything and that’s a good thing. This is all a very good thing. Of course, it doesn’t help that Lance has the world’s most adorable tousled bedhead and that Keith can’t bring himself to look away long enough to steady the skip in his heartbeat, but that’s another topic entirely. He slides the cup and advil over, which Lance happily accepts with a nod of thanks.

He throws back a pill and a mouthful of water, smacking his lips slightly, before reaching up to rub at his eyes. “Oh man, how drunk was I?? I don’t think I’ve been this hungover since the morning after prom.”

“Well, if I’m being totally honest...” Keith shrugs as he reclaims his place across from Lance. “I lost cost count before we even reached your apartment.”

Lance rolls his head back and groans, swiping a hand down his face. Keith is sure he isn’t back to being 100% yet, but he at least looks _somewhat_ better than he did when he first woke up. It will take more than just a shitty smoothie to clear what is probably a killer headache and some extraordinary bouts of nausea. He’s a little surprised that Lance is even up and functioning considering how much he drank… The average person would be face down on the floor, unable to form even the most basic of sentences (Keith knows _he_ would be), but Lance is upright and conversing. It’s almost as impressive as his skating skills.

Then he’s sighing, looking back at Keith with sympathetic eyes. “Sorry for whatever kind of mess I was last night. Although - I have been told that I’m pretty entertaining when I’m drunk.”

“You, uh…. You were -” Keith clears his throat as he desperately redirects his brain from remembering the hundreds of things he really didn’t need to remember about the night before. “You were pretty… enthusiastic. About…. Everything, really.”

Lance stares over at him, deadpan and unimpressed. “If that’s your polite way of telling me I was annoying, I will be very disappointed.”

“No, no. Not annoying.” Keith waves his hands in the air to dispel that thought. Somewhere in the apartment, a door swings open and the sound of friendly conversation drifts into the kitchen, momentarily pulling Keith’s attention away from Lance’s teasing glare. He slowly focuses back on Lance’s unwavering gaze and continues. “You were just -- intense, I guess.”

“Intense?” Lance persists.

“Yeah, uh, Drunk Lance is…” Keith shrugs as the voices grow slightly louder and closer. “ _A lot_.”

“What does that even mean?”

It’s then that Hunk appears in the kitchen doorway, followed by a tired looking Shay and an off-puttingly chirpy Pidge. He grins at them, strolling casually towards the table, bright as sunshine. “ _I_ have always described it as ‘Lance times twelve’.”

Lance turns to blink up at him, a frown already on his brow. “What.”

“That…” Keith turns the words over in his mind as he considers them. “... Actually explains it perfectly.”

Hunk laughs, loud and full, but only turns his attention down to the drunkard in question. “So, how are you feeling?” He smacks a hand firmly between Lance’s shoulder blades with a resounding _thud_. Lance looks like he might faint or puke (or both) and slowly lays his head against the cooler wood of the table with a loud groan. Hunk chuckles again with a smile. “Oh wow, that good?”

Shay, despite her own small smile that she hides behind a hand, buffs Hunk on the arm in warning. “Hunk, do not joke with him. He looks as though he’s seconds from collapsing.”

“Hey now,” Hunk looks over at her, angling himself away from Lance slightly but never removing his hand from Lance’s back, now moving in slow, more soothing circles. “I’ve babysat his drunk butt more times than I can count so, as far as I see it, this is payback.”

Lance, face still smooshed against the table, raises a hand weakly. “Alright, I get it: I’m a pain when I’m drunk. Can I just -” A muffled sigh. “Can I _please_ have, like, two seconds of silence? My head is killing me.”

“Didn’t we already go over this:” PIdge appears behind Hunk and Shay then, rounding the island to hop up onto the counter behind Keith with a smirk. “This is your own fault.”

Lance can really only manage a pathetic glare shot their way before Hunk jumps in, waving a hand between the two of them as if to disperse the incoming bickering. “Why don’t you go have a shower to wake yourself up and I’ll whip up some breakfast for everyone.” He folds his arms over his chest proudly and juts out his chin. “Plus, I finally convinced your mother to share her famous spanish omelette recipe with me and I’ve been dying to make it.”

Lance, who looks like he could actually cry at any second, raises his head from the table to stare up at his friend in earnest. “Hunk.” He reaches out, latching onto his forearm and dragging him a few inches closer. “Marry me.”

The proclamation nearly pulls a snort from Keith, the seriousness in Lance’s expression entertaining considering his exhaustion, but Hunk only pats Lance’s hand. “You only like me for my cooking skills, Lance. Why would I marry someone who’s just using me?”

“That’s not true!” Lance refuses to let go; if anything, he holds on tighter as he continues. “I also love your beautiful physique, your shining personality, your ability to love even the most evil of devil cats, your -”

Hunk holds up a hand to cut him off and fixes him with a look. “If you’re just trying to butter me up so I’ll cook this for you every morning, it isn’t working.”

Lance, sporting a pretty obvious pout, lets his shoulders sag and turns his eyes down. “... Okay but that doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

“I’m very aware.” Hunk states matter of factly then nods off toward the other room. “Now - shower.”

With a very dramatic sigh, Lance melts off of the kitchen stool and begins wading through the doorway to the main room. Keith hears his footsteps continue toward the general direction of the bathroom, followed by the _click_ of a door closing, and rolls his eyes.

“I don’t know who is worse,” he begins. “Hungover Lance or Drunk Off Of His Face Lance?”

Behind him, Pidge scoffs and Keith peers over at them as they stare back, unimpressed. “You saw him last night - you know damn well which is worse.”

“Just be glad he was confined to the space of our apartment,” Hunk chimes in, stepping away from the island to gather ingredients from the fridge. “That boy is dangerous when drunkenly let loose on the world.”

Keith narrows his eyes and purses his lips as he takes this in. “Part of me is curious and the other part is kind of concerned.”

“Do listen to the part of you that is concerned,” Shay adds with a nod, claiming Lance’s spot now that he’s gone, and something in her eyes tells Keith she speaks from experience. “Lance is… oh, how do I put this?”

“Shay,” Hunk, one arm full of ingredients, turns and places a hand on her shoulder. “I really don’t think there’s an accurate way to describe Lance. At least not in a single sentence.”

She laughs, a small, delicate sound, and brushes her tousled hair from her face. “I suppose you are correct. He is an enigma, of sorts.”

“He's something all right,” Pidge hums with a tilt of their head, the sound of Hunk lighting one of the elements punctuating their words. Keith only barely catches the amused glint in their eye as he turns to look over at them before they continue. “I’m sure Keith has that figured out, though. Eh, Keith?”

And then, suddenly, all eyes are on him, narrowed and curious. Keith feels the heat rush up his neck and into his cheeks before he can even duck his head. Of course, they don’t give him much time to recover and immediately swoop in like a pack of vultures.

“Ah, yes,” Hunk raises a brow at him, cracking an egg into the pan without even looking and dumps the shells into a bin in a nearby cupboard. “I _was_ kind of curious about that.”

Keith, eyes still turned pointedly at the table top, clears his throat and desperately aims for casual when he talks. “What even is ‘that’?”

“Keith,” Shay leans against the table and forces Keith’s gaze up to meet her own. She doesn’t say anything else, just stares with a painfully gentle but equally as accusatory look. It is the most kind-hearted accusation he’s ever bore witness to, but it is an accusation nevertheless and there is no missing its meaning.

He sighs and sets his sights on both Hunk and Pidge in turn, daggers in his eyes. “Who told her?”

Hunk shakes his head, facing the pan to drop a handful of cheese into the mix, and Pidge snorts loudly while Shay presses her lips together and watches him sympathetically. “Neither of them told me anything.”

“Wait,” Keith turns to her again, mouth slack. “So you just _figured it out_?”

“Well…”

He throws his head into his hands with a groan. “You’ve known me for less than a day! How the hell did you piece that together so quickly?”

“It is…” She begins, her voice meek and tender as she delivers what feels like a final blow. “Hard to miss.”

Keith truly has no response other than to slump against the cool wood of the table and pray that it swallows him whole. At this point (and definitely after last night) he’s certain even _Lance_ knows, and that is not something he wants to deal with right now. Or ever, really.

“Honestly, Keith, I don’t know why you’re so worked up about this.” This time it’s Hunk who speaks, his voice raised over the crackling of oil in the pan. Keith turns his face a few inches to the side, enough to catch sight of Hunk’s figure leaning beside the stove, and narrows his eyes at him in answer. Hunk ignores him and continues on with a wave of his hand. “I’m serious. What are you so worried for?”

“The answer to that is obvious,” Keith mumbles, cheek squished against the table.

Hunk rolls his eyes, unamused by that response. “Clearly it’s not because I’m asking you for it.”

“I believe he is concerned he will be rejected.” Shay offers nonchalantly.

“Keith.” Hunk seems exhausted by this, a little irritated even, and it makes Keith want to bury his face away again. “Please tell me she’s wrong.”

Keith ignores him, keeping his gaze looking anywhere but at him, and tries to act like six eyes aren’t boring holes into his skin. Behind him, Pidge sighs and hops off of the counter with a dull thud so they can place a hand on Keith’s back.

“She’s not wrong, Hunk. Our dear Keith is trying to steal the title of ‘World’s Biggest Chickenshit’ from his brother by denying his feelings and the likelihood that they could be reciprocated by the guy who literally slept with him last night.”

“ ** _Slept w-???_ ** ” Hunk nearly falls over with how quickly he spins around, the pan skirting to the edge of the stove top only to wobble unsteadily in place until it slows to a stop. His eyes are wide as he stares Keith down with what looks like a mixture of shock and protectiveness; he’s pretty sure Shay is sporting a similar expression, too.

Keith bolts upright just as quickly and waves his hands in the air, rising to his feet to clamp a hand down on Pidge’s shoulder while he desperately fights the blush spreading across his face. “Not _slept with_ slept with! Just -- you know slept _beside_! Holy shit, Pidge, what the fuck!”

“It’s what happened!” They throw their hands up. “It’s not my fault you all jumped to the gutters!”

Keith grabs their other shoulder and shakes them as lightly as he can manage considering his frustration. “There are a hundred different ways to say it and you choose _that way?_ Pidge I swear to _GOD_ -”

“Say what in what way? What are we saying?”

 

Like the iceberg slamming into the Titanic, Lance steps casually into the kitchen and sends all of Keith’s will to live careening to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean in one fell swoop.

No, there’s nothing quick about this. This is torture. Cruelty. Endless, brutal, _agonizing_ seconds stretch out around them as they all freeze in their current spots while Lance’s easy, friendly smile slowly shifts into an uncertain and uncomfortable frown. Hunk can’t stop looking between him and Keith, that same gaping expression of his plastered on his face like a neon sign that screams _Keith has actually thought about you before he falls asleep every night_. And yet Keith can’t do anything, can’t even let go of Pidge’s shoulders (who doesn’t seem to be able to respond either). So he stares back, unmoving, and prays that the ocean would actually rise up to swallow him whole.

Alas, it does not.

 

But, by the grace of some omnipotent power, Shay spins on her stool with a smile so bright it rivals Hunk’s and places a hand on Lance’s arm. “Lance, I do not know how you manage to look so pristine all the time! Truly, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look bad for as long as I’ve known you!” Lance, slightly torn between watching his immobilized friends in confusion and accepting the praise being thrown his way, darts his eyes between Shay and the rest of them. She seems to sense his confliction and continues, placing another hand on his forearm to learn towards him in earnest curiosity. “It is remarkable, if I am to be honest, and I can not help but wonder what your secrets are… Perhaps it all comes naturally?”

And, like a moth to a flame, Lance turns to her with a slightly conceited smile, chin held up. “Well, being a natural born beauty helps, that’s for sure.”

The exhale of relief in the room is nearly palpable as Lance’s focus is pulled fully away from them and he begins what sounds like a long-winded rant about skincare and beauty products. Hunk, one hand already reaching for the pan handle, shoots Shay a look of thanks that Keith would like to multiply by a thousand. He reminds himself to offer her a life’s supply of La Vida Mocha coffee along with his eternal gratitude for saving his ass from what could have been a _really awkward_ conversation.

Now, free from Lance’s inquisitive stare, Keith lets his guard down slightly and shakes his head. “Holy shit.”

“Well, If there’s one thing Lance can’t ignore, it’s a compliment and the opportunity to talk about his skincare.” Pidge’s voice is somewhere between shaken and amused, clearly just as thrown off as the rest of them. They heave out a sigh of relief and reach up to pat Keith’s hands on their shoulders. “Keith - if you wouldn’t mind?”

“Oh, right.” He had honestly forgotten about his grip on them, which had only grown stronger during the past minute, and he smiles apologetically at them as he steps back towards his seat. He risks a look in Hunk’s direction, who is turned halfway towards them while he mixes in a few more ingredients into the pan, and receives only a quick raise of his brow before Shay speaks again.

“Well,” she begins politely, her hands folded over each other on the table as she smiles on at Lance. “You would most certainly look just as wonderful even without these… _many_ steps.”

Lance pushes his damp bangs back from his face with a shrug. “It’s not about what I need, Shay. It’s about what I want.”

“Are you sure it’s not about being a princess?” Hunk chimes in then, turning off the stove top and pushing the pan aside to cool so he can look over at Lance with a glint in his eye.

Lance scoffs loudly at Hunk’s snark as he rounds the table and drops down onto the free stool beside Keith. “And to think I proposed to you.”

“Oh come on, Lance! You’re high maintenance and you know it.”

“Who says that’s a bad thing?” Lance folds arms over his chest with a dramatic pout on his lips and Keith can’t help his snort at his theatrics. His laughter catches Lance’s attention, who opens an eye briefly to survey Keith’s amused snickering with suspicion. “What? I know what I like and I want what I like. Is that not allowed?”

“No, no, that’s not -” Keith clears his throat to cover another laugh and rubs at the back of his neck. “That’s totally allowed.”

“We already knew you’re a handful, Lance. And we didn’t need a strange addiction to beauty products to prove it.” Pidge’s foot swings out suddenly to jab Lance in the side jokingly, but it pulls a groan from him instead and his complexion turns pale in an instant. He slowly lowers his face to the table, hands held to his stomach, and mumbles something incoherent.

Still trying to stifle his laughter, Keith leans in closer to him and places his hand as gently as he can to the small of his back. “You good?”

Lance raises a hand to flash a thumbs up quickly before he turns his face toward Keith, revealing a weak and slightly sickly looking smile. “Absolutely peachy.”

“You don’t look it. Actually you look less peachy and more…” He pauses mid-sentence, brow furrowing, as Lance watches expectantly. “I can’t think of any fruit that’s green.”

Lance rolls his eyes, but lifts his hand onto the table to count off fingers as he speaks. “Avocados, green apples, grapes, limes, kiwi-”

“Fine.” Keith sighs in defeat. “You look less peachy and more avocado-y. Are you happy?”

Lance folds his hand on his chin while he remains leaning against the table and stares at Keith in concern. “Not really. I’m kind of worried that you couldn’t name a single green fruit. What the hell do you even eat?”

“That’s not a question you want answered.” Keith answers solemnly.

Lance lets out a disbelieving puff of laughter and moves to sit back up in his seat. “Honestly, that’s a more terrifying answer than anything else you could have said.”

Keith pulls back with Lance’s movement, straightening out beside him, and quickly realizes that he never pulled his hand from his back. In fact, even as Lance reaches above him to stretch, Keith’s fingers stall against the fabric of his t-shirt. He must have all of last night still stuck in his head, the near constant physical contact on loop for more reasons than one, and his brain must have acted on its own, assuming that casual touching and soft fingers trailing across skin is the new normal. The strangest part, though, is Lance not commenting on it, or even reacting. There is the distinct possibility that he’s still way too hungover to notice Keith’s palm on the small of his back, which is not unlikely, but Keith isn’t going to bring it up. Instead, he purposefully folds his hands in his lap and faces forward across the table to where Shay smiles that same kind smile that carries a little too much understanding for Keith to find it comforting. He ducks his head before that smile can say too much and thankfully Shay turns her attention to Lance.

“Are you feeling better, Lance? You certainly look more like yourself now.”

“I’m better than I normally would be after a night like that.” Lance drops his arms back onto the table and rolls his neck. “Whatever was in Keith’s miracle smoothie worked miracles, but I’m still a little groggy and this headache refuses to be tamed.

“Well, hopefully this helps, then.” Hunk appears behind him to plate an expertly cut and garnished omelette down in front of him with a flashy wave of his hand, donning a bad french accent for a second. “Bon appetit.”

Lance looks about ready to cry, looking down at his plate, but his hunger wins out over the tears and he devours half of it before Hunk can fetch deliver the next plate to Shay. It’s slightly terrifying, if Keith is honest. He seems unfazed, however, and only pauses to lean back on the edge of his stool to reach for the salt sitting on the counter before diving right back in. He’s done by the time Hunk finally gets his own meal and leans against the cupboard closest to Shay, appraising Lance’s empty plate with a quirk of his brow.

“If you ask me for more before I’ve had a single bite, don’t expect me to ever cook for you again.” Hunk threatens with a jab of his fork.

Lance holds up his hands, plate pushed away from him, and feigns offence. “Okay, firstly: rude. Secondly: I would never do that to my fiancé.”

Hunk rolls his eyes as he pops a forkful of egg into his mouth and shoots Shay a sympathetic look, mumbling a brief apology around the food, but she only shakes her head. “It is fine. I approve of this marriage.” This earns a good chuckle from the rest of them, which brings a smile to her own lips as if she’s proud that she made them all laugh, but Keith can’t help but seize this opportunity to make up for all the focus on his and Lance’s ‘situation’.

“So are you guys -?” Keith eyes them as he stabs an escapee piece of red pepper on the side of his plate, waiting for them to mentally fill in the blanks on their own. Of course, neither of them do so he waves his fork in the air and continues. “.... _you know_.”

“Sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.” Lance offers when they still fail to catch on, placing his hands under his chin and tilting his head to the side with a fakely sweet smile.

It takes less than a second for Shay’s entire face to turn beet red and she looks down, a hand coming up to cover her eyes. Hunk sits ramrod straight in his seat, tensely poking at the food on his plate as he stutters out a few broken syllables until he finds his voice. “Not…. in so many words.”

“How many words, exactly?” Pidge inquires from behind them, a cheshire cat-like smile stretched over their face while they survey the blushing duo with interest.

“Oh just -” Hunk drops his fork and clears his throat unceremoniously. “Like, I dunno, _a few_.”

Lance seems very unimpressed by Hunk’s pathetic fumbling, leaning back on his stool and folding his arms over his chest. “Come on, you guys. It’s been literal years, I think we all know by now.”

Hunk is very pointedly avoiding eye contact with all of them, especially Lance, so all eyes are on Shay as she slowly pulls her face from behind her hand. She nervously twirls a strand of her short, cropped hair around her index finger while she stumbles through her words. “We were, um, concerned, that this might perhaps… affect his skating career or my own… uh… career in the field.”

“You guys aren’t _competitors_!” Pidge hops off the counter and drops their plate in the sink with a roll of their eyes. “How the hell would this affect anything?”

“It may… reflect poorly on our… professionalism?” Shay offers uncertainly but Pidge remains unconvinced.

“Just admit that you two are a couple of giant chickens so we can all move on from this because I am _so_ not buying this.”

“That --” Hunk, who still hasn’t looked up from the stained wood of the kitchen table, reaches up to rub at the back of his neck with a sigh. “-- _might_ be part of it.”

Pidge fixes him with a look that is part annoyance and part amusement as they round the table. “That is all of it, dude.” They pat the table twice, as if closing off the conversation, and take a few more steps towards the main room. “Anyways, we have practice later today and Matt has been texting me all morning about something with the tech at the rink so I need to get going.”

“Ah, yes. Good.” Hunk nods firmly, happily accepting this change of subject but still shooting Shay a small, shy smile that she returns alongside another blush. He hops to his feet and downs the last of his omelette in a few bites. “I can drive you over if you want?”

Pidge shoots a peace sign over their shoulder as they continue to wander towards the front door, other hand in their pocket. “That is not an offer I will turn down.”

Hunk drops his plate into the sink and takes a step towards the kitchen entrance, pausing briefly to place a kiss to Shay’s temple only to nearly sprint out of the room a second later. She looks about ready to melt into the floor, but Keith only finds her flustered state endearing. He very quickly disappears from sight but his voice carries over to the rest of them just as the front door creaks open. “I’ll be back later if you guys want a ride to the rink, by the way!”

Lance looks to Keith with an eyebrow raised, shrugging when Keith frowns. “Hey, I live here. It’s up to you on what you want to do.”

“Oh,” Keith glances over at the clock above the stove and mulls it over briefly. “Um, I think I’m alright? I need to go get and get my stuff before I head in anyways.”

“Okay.” Lance cups a hand over his mouth, sucking in a breath to shout towards the front door where Hunk is probably seconds from leaving. “ _No thanks, we’re good!_ ”

Hunk calls out one last quick goodbye and then the door is shut with a thud. Keith catches Lance wince at the sound, but the room stays silent otherwise as nothing other than the incessantly ticking clock fills the air. Shay keeps her eyes down for the most part, risking a few looks up at the two of them every now and again only to quickly avert her gaze when they make eye contact. Lance peers over at Keith with a raised brow, as if asking something, but Keith doesn’t quite catch on and frowns, shrugging. He tries again, making the same expression but more intensified this time and Keith deadpans, finding no more clues from this look as he did the last. Lance rolls his eyes - although Keith catches the smirk on the corner of his lips as he turns to Shay.

“So,” he starts, folding his arms over the table and refusing to look away from her despite her jittering, flickering gaze. “That probably feels good to get off your chest.”

She shrugs and reaches up to twirl her hair once again, which Keith assumes must be a nervous habit. “It is somewhat of a relief, I will admit.”

Lance nods in understanding, his own hair now slightly drier and curling at the tips (which Keith finds stupidly endearing but forces himself to look away from). “Mmm, I can imagine. Even though you two didn’t do a good job of hiding it and we all pretty much knew anyways.”

Shay doesn’t respond to that, her finger twirling her one lock of hair faster and more erratically with every passing second, and Keith spots the soft flush creeping up her neck while Lance continues scrutinizing her. She is visibly squirming within a less than a minute of silence, even Keith is a little uncomfortable if he’s honest, but thankfully Lance breaks the stare down.

“How badly do you want to disappear right now?” He asks with a soft chuckle.

All of the air rushes out of Shay’s lungs in a _whoosh_ and her shoulders slump dramatically. “ _So_ badly.”

“Well, as much as I love teasing you and my teddy bear of a friend,” Lance hums. “I’ll let you go.”

Keith rolls his eyes at Lance’s confidence - as if he’d have any chance of holding her back. She seems a little shy and softspoken, but she seems equally as stubborn and headstrong. Especially considering how much damage control she had to do last night with the drunken duo of Pidge and Hunk to keep them from breaking themselves or their property. For as much of a handful as Lance was when he was drunk, his theatrics don’t hold a candle to the antics of the other two.

Before he really notices, Shay is up and headed towards the door, a hand already raised into a wave. “Well, thank goodness. I am certain that if I had not left soon, I would be returning to a completely ruined apartment thanks to a very hungry Sugar.”

“Ah, yes.” Lance scowls. “The devil cat.”

“She likes Hunk,” Shay offers. “She can not be all bad.”

“She can be and she is. Hunk probably bribes her with catnip and that’s why she tolerates him.”

Keith tilts his head at Lance and smiles at him teasingly, bumping their shoulders together as he does. “Just admit that not everyone loves you and you’ll feel a whole lot better.”

Lance shoots him a glare that is barely serious in its warning, but Shay cuts him off with a laugh before he can say anything. “It was very nice to meet you, Keith. I do hope we will see each other again.”

“Oh, uh-” Keith is taken a little off-guard by her sudden genuinity, if he’s honest. Of course, she always seemed to have that same soft, caring quality to her that Hunk has, but this was sprung on him pretty abruptly. He runs a hand through his hair with a shrug and turns to her smiling expression. “Yeah - you too. I had a lot of fun.”

“Don’t you worry about _that_ , Shay.” Lance adds as he slings an arm over Keith’s shoulders with a grin, jostling him slightly. “Keith has caught the figure skating bug so I don’t think we’ll be getting rid of him even if we wanted to.”

The softness in Shay eye's edges just a little too close to affection for Keith's taste and he finds it difficult to maintain eye contact. “Well, I am very glad to hear it.” She tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear before gesturing behind her towards the front door. “But, unfortunately, now I must go before our dear Sugar tears apart my kitchen in search of food.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lance pulls away from Keith to wave a hand at her. “Go feed your pocket sized Satan incarnate. I’ll let Hunk know where you’ve gone when he comes back.” With nothing more than a quick thanks, a wave, and one last brilliant smile, Shay heads out the front door, clicking it shut as gently as Keith’s ever heard someone do. Lance sighs and reaches up to stretch his arm across his chest, his stool leaning dangerously far back as he does. “That woman has a heart of gold and it terrifies me sometimes.”

Keith laughs, rolling his own neck slowly and methodically. “She and Hunk are kind of perfect for each other.”

“You have no idea how true that statement is,” Lance replies as he rises to his feet and collects the discarded dishes from the table. “I’d be jealous if they weren’t so disgustingly mushy when they’re around each other. They’re almost as bad as Allura and Shiro, honestly.”

Keith spins on his stool so he can watch Lance pile all of the dirty dishes in the sink and retrieve a pair of rubber gloves from a nearby cupboard. “I don’t think that’s possible, Lance. My brother is a puddle when it comes to Allura.”

“You didn’t know Hunk when he first met Shay. It was almost embarrassing to be around him back then.”

“I think I can imagine it,” Keith smiles to himself as Lance turns the tap on and begins picking away at the dishes. He seems in a better mood now - well, he wasn’t really in a _bad_ mood, per se, but he seems more himself and less like a hungover mess. Considering how much he drank last night, it’s pretty surprising that he’s jumped back this quickly, hangover smoothie or not. Although, it could be that he’s just cleaned up a bit. His bedhead is now replaced by a semi-dry and wavy pile of dark brown hair that he’s obviously tried to smooth down since his shower, to no avail clearly, and Keith isn’t sure which style he prefers. The pieces at the crown of his head curl upwards in a series of cowlicks that are almost comical in their intensity. Before he can think about it too much, Keith leans against the table and picks up the conversation again. “I never knew your hair was curly.”

Almost with a start, Lance glances over at him, fingers stalling over the dishes, and quickly turns back. “It’s not long enough to be _curly_. It’s more of a hot frizzy mess right now so I got to great lengths to keep it tamed. Count yourself lucky that you’re seeing me before it’s styled because it took me almost a year to let Hunk see me like this.”

Keith frowns slightly, his mouth moving before he can think to stop himself. “I don’t know - I like it this way.”

There’s a brief hiccup in Lance’s movements, the tiniest of stalls as his fingers fumble over a cup amidst the soapy water, but then Keith blinks and he’s back to his usual self. He offers Keith an unimpressed look from over his shoulder, dropping the cup into the clean side of the sink.

“I’m already doing the dishes, Keith. There’s no need for flattery.” His face is only barely turned his way, but Keith swears he sees the faintest dusting of pink over the curve of his cheekbones. A small glimmer of hope sprouts in him, practically pleading that Keith follow the butterflies fluttering his gut, but he promptly tells to it shut up unless they both want to be let down. “Anyways, I, uh -” With one turn of his wrist, the water shuts off and Lance turns to face him, leaning against the counter as he dries his hands. He looks a little sheepish or, at least, uncharacteristically uncertain, and keeps his eyes trained on the towel in his hands. “I know you’ve got things to do before you head to the rink, but there’s this show I was meaning to catch up on and it would be… _cool_ if you wanted to, you know….. hangout a bit longer….. Or something.”

Of course, this only further encourages that sprout of hope to blossom into a full grown tree which becomes _significantly_ harder to ignore at that point. He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t getting to him a little bit, especially considering how fleetingly Lance meets his gaze. And, much to no one’s surprise, Keith nods one, slowly.

“S-sure. I’ve, uh… I’ve got time.”

He’s also be lying if he said the flicker of hope in _Lance’s_ eyes didn’t set fire to that damn tree and send Keith’s mind into utter, helpless chaos. _Don’t get carried away, Keith. Don’t read too much into it just yet._

“Oh - okay. Cool.” Lance nods, pushing away from the counter and hovering a few feet away.

Keith can hear his heart racing in his ears by now. “Cool.”

There’s a few beats of silence while Lance stands there, arms swinging aimlessly at his sides, before he gestures ahead of him towards the doorway to the main room. “So, to the couch, I guess?”

  
“Ah. Right.” He feels horrendously stupid and even a little embarrassed with how robotically he hops to his feet and pads along behind Lance to the living room. It seems, though, that with every passing step Lance becomes more like his usually bubbly, enthusiastic self. By the time Keith has dropped onto the couch, pushing away the pile of pillows and blankets to make room, and Lance has retrieved the remotes from across the room, he’s already rambling about the show’s plot at full speed.

And when he all but leaps onto the couch cushions, Keith tries not to think about how close Lance is sat next to him, his folded legs nearly in his lap when leaning in close to talk about some actor or another.

He fails, of course, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t try. 

* * *

 

“Alright,” Allura props her hands on her hips and surveys Keith with a nod. “I think that’s enough for today.”

Keith sighs, the air whooshing out of his lungs in one smooth movement, and leans forward on his knees with an airy laugh. “Thank god - I was starting to worry that my legs were just going to give out on me if we kept going with any more jumps.”

“It’s the price we must pay for perfection.” She says matter of factly, although she sneaks in a quick wink when he straightens up again. “If I am honest, however, I am quite pleased with your skating skills, Keith. You are improving at a rather impressive rate.”

 _That_ takes him by surprise. She’s not one to skip out on praising him when he does well, but she also doesn’t shy away from critiques. No matter how harsh they may sound. He always expects a list of things to improve and work on in between their lessons once they’re done for the day, so unprovoked and sincere flattery like this is a little surprising. He reaches up for brush the hair from his face, a smile taking hold of his expression. “Thanks, Allura.”

“Of course.” She smiles equally as bright as him and tilts her head to the side as she continues. “So long as you don’t slack off during practices, you should be just fine.”

The (very) brief reprise from her intensity was appreciated, especially when it was spent paying in compliments. She heads off with a wave and a repeated order to continue practicing in his off time, leaving him to glide over to the stands and slowly undo his laces. For as much as Keith jokes or complains about Allura’s lessons, he can’t ignore the nagging desire he feels as every passing one ends. He can be exhausted, in pain, have other commitments, or all of the above, and a part of him will beg for them to keep going. He hasn’t felt that way in many, many years… for anything, really. It’s strange, but certainly not unwelcome. His quickly approaching return to hockey practice looms over him like a thundercloud doesn’t help either. He’s come no closer to making a decision about being drafted, which weighs heavily on his mind every waking minute of the day. He’s opened his e-mail a hundred times over, starting and deleting different drafts of an e-mail he doesn’t know how to write, only to slam his laptop shut and flop backwards on his couch. Shiro, for the most part, leaves him to his own devices when it comes to a final decision, but Keith can tell he’s interested in the details of it all.

He’s mentioned it to Pidge, as off-handedly and casually as he can manage, but they only replied with an easy “obviously the one with the best salary is the one you should choose” which, as one can guess, wasn’t exactly the answer he was looking for. Although, Keith doesn’t really know what answer he wants, but he’s sure he’ll recognize it when he hears it. He contemplated asking the others for their opinions in hopes that they’d help calm the panic in his mind, but he ultimately decided to leave all of that stress in the draft section of his mailbox and throw himself headfirst into his lessons with Allura. They’ve been a welcome relief and distraction, one that he finds himself looking forward to almost every minute he’s away from the rink and one that he arrives more than thirty minutes early for despite the ungodly, early hour. Lance commented on his enthusiasm before his third or so lesson (even though Keith tried to smother it for the most part), the spark in his eye more excited than teasing when he did so.

Keith isn’t an idiot, okay. He knows what’s happening. Even if it isn’t easy to admit.

 

So when his brother appears halfway around the arena, leaning against the boards to call something out to Allura, Keith lets his feet guide him to his side before he can change his mind. Allura offers him a quick smile when he arrives and Keith wonders what she’ll think when she finds out for no longer than a second before his brother is turning to him, eyebrow quirked up in question.

“So,” he tilts his head slightly. “You ready to pound your head into the ice, yet?”

Keith’s mind is screaming at him to both _spit it out_ and run as fast and as far away as he possibly can, an internal war that feels like it lasts a millennia. But, his logical side being swiftly silenced, Keith heaves in an almost painful breath, and runs with it.

“Shiro….. How much do lessons cost?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For you Canadian folk: I'll be at Otakuthon in Montreal all weekend!!!!! Here are shots of my cosplays so you can ID me if you're there. http://wardenalistair.tumblr.com/post/163616243167/guess-whos-ready-for-otakuthon-next-week-this
> 
> Please don't be afraid to stop me if you see me!! I'd love to say hi and chat about the emotion of s3 haha! 
> 
> Sorry about the (likely) typos as I'm on vacation right now and don't want to spend another few hours hunting for typos. Also please let me know if anything is out of order??? I didn't write it chronologically so i hope nothing is too amiss!
> 
> THANKS SO MUCH FOR BEING PATIENT!!! I'm gonna continue to take care of myself first and foremost, but I'll keep you updated on the chapter progress on my twitter (@Minadoraa) and my tumblr (@wardenalistair). 
> 
> Thanks so much again - you guys are the best T.T


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